Mary Scully
by lillianempire
Summary: This is not your grandmother's fanfiction story. Unless your grandmother is Dana Scully and you as her granddaughter must manage family secrets, personal mistakes, and a task that will change the planet. Begins in 2049 in a new nation called the North American Union. Third-person limited narrative. Some of the show's most notorious minor characters make a not-so-minor appearance.
1. Chapter 1

_The North American Union_

 _2049_

 _8:16pm_

Mary smoothed down the fabric of her dark green skirt, checking herself in the mirror. She pulled out her tube of red lipstick and carefully tried to put it on. She really hated the way it made her look, like a clown. She couldn't do it right. Her mouth always looked too big and like a cartoon character. She took out a tissue and tried to wipe away the spots where she messed up, but that made it look worse. She threw the lipstick on the floor in frustration.

"What?"

Her roommate, Dominique, stood in the door.

"I just can't do it right," Mary said. "It looks good on you. On me it looks stupid."

"Here," Dominique came over and picked up the lipstick. "Put your lips out like this." She pushed her lips out in a pouty kiss face.

Mary imitated her and Dominique smoothed the red tube over in gentle strokes. Dominique was Haitian, and she was singing something in French Creole. Sometimes Mary understood it. Dominique tried to teach her when no one else was listening. They were only supposed to speak Spanish or English, the official national languages.

"There now," Dominique said, putting the cap back on. "Go like this." She pressed her lips together, making a popping sound. Mary did the same and they both giggled at how it looked. Mary looked at herself in the mirror. That was better, but she still looked ridiculous. The South Region President liked the ladies of her Guard to be feminine and the men masculine. And for both to look intimidating, too. A delicate balance for the women, an almost impossible image to achieve. Who could be scared of a clown?

"You ready?" Dominique asked.

They walked downstairs and out of the dormitory to the SRP's rooms. Mary liked how people moved out of their way when they were coming. It made her feel important and respected. She'd had a desperate need for both her entire life. She was usually self-conscious of her height in high heels, but when people looked at them in awe and admiration, she stood tall, holding her head up. She loved it.

There were citizens outside the fence watching for the SRP's departure. People holding up their phones to capture it waved and shouted at them.

"God bless you ladies!"

"God bless the Guard!"

Mary and Dominique smiled and gave them a nod. They weren't supposed to wave or really acknowledge them at all, but this kind of attention always went to Mary's head. When they got there, the male guards scanned the metal disks in their throats to let them in. Mary and Dominique stood in the back of the room in silence and at attention.

The SRP was surrounded by people. One woman was sliding the medallion over her shoulders and clasping the heavy thing in the back. It looked like something 16th century noblemen wore, pure gold, and etched with the symbols of the South Region. Another was putting on her makeup. Another was twisting up her white-blonde hair with bobby pins. It always took the SRP a while to get ready. Mary had never seen her in person, but she'd seen her on television during her first campaign. She'd gone out in front of all those people and the cameras without any cosmetics at all and before all of her skin treatments. She looked hideous. Burns and scars all over her and no eyelashes. They'd fallen out after having her eyes sewn shut for weeks.

She told the people of the South Region that the Old Republic had done this to her. She wanted to show them what they were capable of, and they would do it to all of them, too. She would fight to keep the South stable, and immediately and mercilessly punish any Old Republican that defied the Union. Public sympathy for her was almost universal. The video of her speech had nearly a billion views. She'd won by a landslide.

"Five minutes, ma'am!" Someone shouted from the hall.

"Where are they from?" She asked one of her aides standing by her as she slid black gloves over her fingers.

"They're Sudanese. One is from Nairobi, I think."

The SRP looked in the mirror to check herself one last time, then froze when she saw Mary in the reflection.

"Scully?" She said.

Surprised, Mary straightened her back and flicked her eyes forward. "Yes, ma'am!"

The SRP turned around to look at her and it was hard for Mary not to look directly back. Her eyes were icy blue. Glowing almost. She looked from Mary's badge to her face. "Your name is Scully?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mary replied. Everyone was looking at her now. She could feel her cheeks flushing.

The SRP looked at her carefully for a few seconds. It felt like an eternity. The whole room quiet and staring at them. The SRP turned away slowly, then put on her wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses. She wore them to keep the sun off her skin. It was extra-sensitive from all the surgeries.

"Alright," she said. "Let's go."

Everyone stood at attention, and saluted, marching alongside her out of the building into the sweltering heat. It was still nearly one hundred degrees and the sun was already starting to set. As soon as the people saw her, there was a roar of cheers and shouting. She was well-liked. She might as well be since the South was the hardest region to manage. Hurricanes slammed into the islands year round, swamps harbored illness-spreading insects, and miles of desert coughed up nothing but dust to the west. It was an ecological nightmare.

And then there were the snakes.

Oh, the snakes.

People in decades past had let their pet pythons loose in the Everglades. The pythons had since multiplied, breeding along the Gulf Coast, getting larger, invading homes, killing pets and children.

"Are Alex and Walter there already?" She shouted over the noise of the helicopters, six of them set up and ready to go.

"Yes, ma'am," her aide shouted back. "Chained and ready."

Alex and Walter were alligators. Genetically altered alligators created specifically to devour all the snakes. They stood almost as tall as horses, their jaws enlarged and thickened with bone mass and teeth. No snake on earth could squeeze them to death. The SRP oversaw the project personally. It was one of many reasons she continued to remain in office, and no one dared run against her.

Mary followed the SRP into the main helicopter with Dominique behind her. They sat in the back section, the SRP in the middle, squeezed between two male Guards. As they ascended, Mary looked down at all the people, waving and cheering. There usually wasn't this many people, but this event was special. They were meeting with representatives from the African Union and it was the last meeting of the decade. Next year there would probably be more crowds as they ushered in a new decade.

They were flying to the Center, which wasn't far from the South Region capital. The Center was built upon the point where the four regions intersected. Mary could see it coming into view. She'd never been inside it before.

There was a wall built around it, encasing it in a giant oval. Mary read in one of her classes how people of this country once wanted a wall. In a different place, and for far different reasons, but they had their wall now. Mary looked down to see nothing but brown. Sandy, uninhabitable brown. But as soon as they crossed over the wall, everything was green. Lush greenery everywhere, and tall glassy buildings with the letters NAU centered in a diamond shape at the top of each one. She watched the reflection of the helicopters in the glass, hovering like misshapen dragonflies. The words SOUTH REGION on the sides rippled over windows as they moved along.

Mary's teeth were chattering and she wasn't sure if it was from the unstable ride or from nerves. She had only seen these events on TV, and this was her first time there in person. She could see the stadium now, set up in the center of the Center. It used to be a football stadium, but the Center planners had expanded it, making it bigger and adding more seating.

"The North is entering now, ma'am," one of the men beside the SRP said. He opened up the live video feed on his tablet to show her. Mary looked over their shoulders to see.

North was Burns. His Guard wore blue, and he was dressed from head to toe in white. A white suite, white tie, and white shoes. There was a fleet of Arctic wolves flanking him on both sides, their white fur matching him. Mary could see they were already panting, not at all used to this climate. In the background she could see some attendants filling up buckets of ice water and preparing an air conditioned tent for them.

"East," the male Guard announced.

Mary looked away. She wasn't really interested in the East. That was Avenham. His guard wore black, and he came in with bears that had been drugged to counteract any aggression.

She waited until they said West was entering, then leaned forward to watch, along with Dominique and all the other women in the helicopter.

West was Leonard Hosteen, a Navajo. He was the third native president and out of the current four, he was the youngest, only in this early 30s.

And he was handsome.

Very, very handsome.

He was dressed in traditional Navajo clothing, his medallion draped over his shoulders and swaying against his chest, creating a strange mix of colonizer/colonized attire. His Guard wore red and every single one of them had their faces and arms painted like his. The contrast against their uniforms was startling. Hosteen rode in on the back of a red horse accompanied by four pumas. They were probably drugged as well, or that horse wouldn't be there.

He smiled a bright smile, and waved to all the gushing women, but especially to the indigenous people. The West was becoming a haven for all the native people of the Union. The Inuit, Ojibway, and Cherokee had already left their homelands to relocate to the West. Burns and Avenham were not able to handle them.

Mary and Dominique watched, then exchanged a glance. He was just so incredibly attractive. It most certainly factored into his re-election. Mary snapped back to attention when the helicopters began their descent, going over what she needed to do. When they landed, Mary went to get the flag from the Guards who were already there. That was her task: to carry the South Region flag in front of the procession. She was starting to get nervous. Everyone was watching and she wanted to do it right. There would be people watching on TV. Probably her mother and grandmother, and maybe even her half-siblings. She didn't care at all if her father was watching.

Six Guards went to take hold of the reins of Alex and Walter. Someone had banded their mouths shut so they wouldn't bite anyone. They could snap Avenham's bears right in half. When they were ready, Alex and Walter lurched forward, leading them all into the stadium, nearly dragging along the three men each it took to hold onto them. There were commentators and media watching from all over the world via drones and satellites. Mary could see them up in the sky swirling around the stadium. They always commented on how the SRP chose to come in with reptiles rather than mammals like her counterparts, as if that was supposed to mean something.

Mary saw light first as they entered, blinding blue-white light as the powerful bulbs from atop the stadium shone down on them. She could see a marquee with NOW ENTERING: SOUTH REGION AND PRESIDENT MARITA COVARRUBIAS circling around the top. She thought the deep throbbing in her chest was from the drums, basses and snares accompanied by a fanfare of brass instruments. But it was all the people stomping up and down on the risers in excitement. It felt like they might start an earthquake.

She heard an announcement from somewhere as they came to a stop, "All stand for President Covarrubias!"

Mary turned sideways, still holding onto the flag, as the SRP saluted the crowd, then went up on the stage. Mary saw the representatives from Africa across from them in a glass room, likely bullet proof, even though concealed-carry was banned in the Center. The African Union had recently taken Morocco and Egypt and they were headed for Yemen, and towards certain war with the Arabic Union. That's why they were here, for NAU support.

Mary stood as still as she could as they went through all the formalities. As strong as she was, the waving fabric was already starting to get heavy and her arms were aching. Every time the flag waved to one side in the breeze, she could see Hosteen, sitting there with the rest of the four. One of his pumas was laying at his feet, calm and heavily sedated. At least she had a nice view.

All of this was really for show anyway. All the decisions had been made weeks before behind closed doors, but that wasn't as exciting. And besides, they would do this again at the beginning of next year with representatives of the Arabic Union.

Avenham's voice came over the speakers now as he addressed the crowd. One of his bears had stood up on its hind legs, cocking its head to the side, looking at the wolves, howling in their tent. When the flag rippled to the side again, Mary watched Hosteen. He had been keeping his eyes forward, but he turned his head towards her, looking right at her. Mary's heart pounded and the flag moved back to cover him again. Why was he looking at her? Or maybe he was looking past her at something else? It moved away again, and he was still looking, staring right at her, into her eyes. Mary felt her hands start to sweat inside her gloves. She tightened them around the pole so she wouldn't drop it. What should she do? Should she smile and nod? Should she acknowledge him at all? No, no, she had to keep looking straight ahead.

The whole event lasted about an hour. South was the last in so they were the first out. Mary turned away from Hosteen, bewildered, and marched out with the SRP. She thought she could still feel his eyes on her as she exited the stadium. Behind her, Mary could hear some of the other female Guards talking.

"I think he was looking at me!"

"Was he?"

"No he wasn't."

"Yes he was! I swear!"

"I think he was looking at Mary."

Mary smiled to herself as she boarded the helicopter. She didn't hear the conversation between the SRP and her aide as they rode back. She didn't hear Dominique's comments on how awesome that was and how well they did this time. She was much too consumed with her own thoughts: he was looking at _her_. That actually happened. Other people saw it. But after a while, her smile faded as she remembered who she was: the bastard daughter of half-siblings and the granddaughter of traitors. Anyone looking at her in that way would surely avert their eyes once they knew that about her. She was – what was it Eve, her half-sister, had said to her? An abomination. That was it. She didn't know what that word meant at the time. It sounded mean and insulting. She knew what it meant now.

When they got back, Mary and Dominique went back to their rooms to change into their casual clothing. They were off duty for the rest of the evening. But as soon as they shut the door and began talking excitedly, there was a knock. Dominique opened it to see Lieutenant Skinner standing there. He looked over Dominique's head at Mary.

"The SRP wants to see you," he said.

"Me?" She asked, her heart starting to pound again.

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Right now. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

_Presidential Archives, 2023-2060_

 _North American Union Records Administration_

Name: JULIAN ANDRE BURNS

Region: NORTH

Affiliation: MODERATE

Term: 2041-2050

Nation of Birth: CANADA

Regional Secretary: SARAH CLINTON

* * *

Name: HORATIO JOAQUIN AVENHAM

Region: EAST

Affiliation: CONSERVATIVE

Term: 2047-2052

Regional Secretary: JESSINDA ALVAREZ

* * *

Name: MARITA COVARRUBIAS

Region: SOUTH

Affiliation: MODERATE

Term: 2045-2055

Nation of Birth: UNITED STATES

Regional Secretary: GIBSON PRAISE

* * *

Name: LEONARD ALBERT HOSTEEN

Region: WEST

Affiliation: TRIBAL

Term: 2047-2051

Nation of Birth: UNITED STATES

Regional Secretary: JEMAINE AS HE STANDS

* * *

The SRP's rooms were decorated in a late 20th century style. Florals and pastels all over the furniture and art that hung on the walls. The decor was bright and cheery, but her rooms stayed dark all day and all night, lit only by lamps and LEDs to keep out the sun.

Mary followed Lieutenant Skinner until they came to a stop inside the sitting room. Mary didn't notice the other Guards at first, standing at each corner, silent, awaiting orders. And then there was her aide, sitting across the room. Mary wasn't sure of his name. She thought she'd heard the SRP call him Gilbert or Gibson, something like that.

"Ma'am," Skinner said. "Corporal Mary Scully."

She's sitting on a couch, still dressed in her black outfit from earlier, swiping through her phone. She looks up, setting her phone down. "Thank you, Skinner."

He leaves, shutting the door behind him. Mary felt sad for a second. Couldn't he stay? She wasn't sure how she felt being with the SRP in this manner, like she'd been pushed out into the middle of the sea with nothing to hold on to.

"Leave us," the SRP says to the other Guards, and they salute her, walking out the door. Her aide remained seated.

"You, too," she said to him

"Ma'am," he said, standing to salute her, then walking out.

Mary looked around with her eyes, trying not to turn her head; they were completely alone. Didn't this go against some kind of protocol? Had she done something wrong earlier?

"Come sit here by me," the SRP says after a minute. Her voice, when it she's not giving speeches, has a strange lilt to it; quiet and slow.

Mary sat down next to her, unsure of how to sit. How does one sit next to the SRP? Should she cross her legs? Where should she put her hands?

The SRP looked at her for a few seconds, and Mary slowly returned her gaze. She was probably a beautiful woman once. All the surgeries and makeup helped a little, but her eyes still blinked out of sync, and her skin was bumpy and uneven where the scars were. Mary wasn't sure how old she was, and all the scarring prevented even a slight estimate.

"No need to be anxious," she said. "You're not in any trouble."

Mary wanted to relax a little, but she remained stiff with nervousness.

"I wanted to talk to you, because it seems we have some things in common."

Mary didn't know how to respond. This was weird, right?

"I was looking at your personnel file," she nodded to her phone. "I knew your grandparents. Especially your grandfather."

"Oh." Mary said. This wasn't the first time someone had said this to her. It seemed quite a few people knew them or knew of them. When Lieutenant Skinner was still a Dean at the academy, he'd mentioned knowing of her grandparents. His father had worked with them.

"He passed away a few years ago, your grandfather? I'm very sorry for your loss."

Mary nodded. "Yes. And thank you."

"He was a good man. He trusted the right people. While I…," she sighed. "I trusted the wrong ones. And…well…"she gestured to her face.

She paused, waiting for Mary to respond, but Mary didn't have anything to respond with. She knew which question was coming next.

The SRP picked up her phone. "Did you see him much? Did he ever talk about his FBI days?"

Mary pretended like she was contemplating an answer, but she already had one: no, she didn't see him much, and he never really told her anything. She had half-formed memories of him from when she was a child. Little snippets of him picking her up and putting her on his shoulders. The only nice, fully-formed memory she had of him she liked to keep a secret. She wasn't sure why. It just seemed like if she told anyone the memory would lose its significance.

Mary couldn't remember why or how she'd ended up alone that evening at her school. She was in the fifth grade, sitting outside, waiting on her father. He said he'd take her to the Father Daughter Dance. It was kind of a stupid thing to have really. Not all girls had fathers. Some girls had two fathers or two mothers. What were they supposed to do?

And Mary still believed him back then, because there were times when he kept his promises. She also still believed that when he couldn't keep them it was her step-mother's fault or the triplets. Mary told teachers that came out to check on her that her father had texted her and was on his way. She didn't feel bad about lying. What else was she going to do but sit out here and wait? Her mother had bought her a light blue dress that matched her eyes. She had sat very still while her mother braided flowers into her hair. She was here now and ready. What else was she going to do but sit out here and wait?

She heard someone walk up behind her. "May I have this dance?"

She turned to see her grandfather standing there. She hadn't seen him in a long time, but she remembered what he looked like. She stood up, looking up at him wide-eyed. He was all dressed up in a suit. She'd never seen him like that, except for pictures of him when he was a FBI agent.

He knelt down in front of her so he was eye-level with her. "You're dad wanted to come. But he just couldn't."

Mary stared at him in disbelief, hundreds of questions swarming and clogging her brain. What? How? Who?

"So," he said. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with me." He stood up, holding out his arm. "Shall we?"

Mary hesitantly put her arm through his and accompanied him inside. She looked up at him amazed, still speechless from shock.

"Now listen," he said as they walked towards the gym, looking around with exaggeration, and then leaning down towards her. "I can't dance. Like not at all."

Mary smiled up at him.

"So you're going to have to take the lead in there. It's going to be up to you to make us look good out there. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied.

He smiled down at her. "You're not going to make fun of me are you?"

Mary laughed. "No."

"Okay, because if you make fun of me then I get to make fun of you. That's the deal."

Mary laughed again. "Okay."

He was a hero to her in that moment. He'd taken down the villain and rescued the helpless maiden. He'd swooped in, saving her, and changing the entire course of that evening. He twirled her around and around. He pretended to trip over his feet to make her laugh. At one point, Mary saw him outside on his phone. She heard him yelling, and she didn't need to guess who he was yelling at.

Before he left, he picked her up in a giant bear-hug, kissing her cheek.

"Take care of yourself, Mary." He'd said to her, brushing his hand across her cheek.

"I will," she replied.

Then he left. Gone as fast as he'd shown up.

Mary didn't tell anyone he'd been there. She assumed everyone knew. But her mother seemed oblivious and Mary didn't really want to say that her father hadn't shown. It was a mystery to her to this day as to how he knew to be there and why he decided to. She thought she'd hear from him again. He'd want to see her more and talk to her, but she didn't see him again after that.

"I didn't really know him," Mary said to the SRP. "I only saw him a few times when I was little."

The SRP nodded, looking down at her phone. "How old are you?"

Mary opened her mouth to answer, but she couldn't remember. It was one of those things one always knows until they are asked. Especially by someone important.

"Twenty-two, ma'am," Mary replied finally.

"You don't have your father listed here," she said, looking down at her phone.

"I don't know who he is."

It wasn't a total lie. She didn't really know who he was at all. He always put her half-siblings before her. They were legitimate. They were not like her.

The SRP set her phone down, and scooted closer to her. This _was_ weird.

"I think there's something else we have in common."

Okay? Sure?

"You can do things," the SRP pointed to her head. "Can't you?"

Mary looked around, though she knew they were alone in here. She tried to think if she'd done anything recently that someone may have seen and reported back to her. But she was always very careful.

"But you were born like this," the SRP said, tilting her head, studying her. "You've always had this in you."

Mary said nothing, but that was just as damning as saying yes.

"Do you ever look in the mirror," the SRP was staring right in her eyes. "And see it move over your eyes? Like a black oil?"

Mary couldn't reply. Even if she said no, her hesitation had already spoken for her.

"I do, too." The SRP reached for her phone again. Then picked up an envelope. "But I wasn't born with it. They made me this way, and they thought it would kill me."

She tapped on her phone for a few seconds, then set it down, the envelope still in her hands."But we'll keep that just between us."

So, that was why she wanted privacy. Mary felt like she'd been duped into something.

"When was the last time you saw your grandmother?"

Mary shrugged. For a while, after her grandfather died, her grandmother wrote to her frequently. It was before they gave them access to electronic communications at the academy, but they could still get mail. Then it tapered off into nothing at all. Her grandmother had come to her graduation four years ago, but nothing more after that. Mary had learned not to get too attached to anything or anyone.

"It's been four years at least," Mary replied.

"Then it's time for a visit," the SRP said, smiling, and handing her the envelope. "It's nothing classified. You can read it if you want."

Mary took the envelope from her, not knowing what to say. She'd never said so little and still revealed so much in her life.

"You can go now," the SRP said, moving back to her phone.

Mary stood to walk out. This had been a very informal meeting. Should she salute? After a few seconds, she did so, awkwardly, but the SRP was absorbed in her phone. Mary walked towards the door, holding the envelope in her hands.

"Wait," the SRP said. She stood up, coming over to Mary. "I'm going to the West Region in a couple of days. Would you like to come?"


	3. Chapter 3

The West.

Mary remembered the shapes of each region they'd learned in school: North was an upside-down pyramid; East was a crescent moon, fattened in the middle; South was a lopsided oval, and West was kind of like a lightning bolt, jagged on one side. She tried to apply that image to what she was seeing out of the window of the train.

The SRP didn't have to go through the Center, where the Inter-Regional Railway ended and began, tracks and trains winding around inside the wall like millipedes. Air travel was too dangerous for this distance for a President, so train it was. It took longer, but a train couldn't fall out of the sky if the electronics were disabled.

They traveled in a northwest curve, the landscape staying mostly the same: flat desert, cacti, and a few patches of trees where towns were. Looking at it made Mary incredibly thirsty. She looked over at the SRP, two other Guards behind her, her aide sitting next to her, talking to her quietly. They had the entire front portion of the train for the five of them. She didn't need as much protection as some of the other Presidents because she was so well-liked.

The train slowed as they approached the border, warning lights flashing, and instructing people aboard to conceal their firearms. Open-carry was illegal in the West, but that didn't apply to the Guard. Mary kept her M4 Carbine slung over one shoulder along with the other Guards. There was a receptacle people could put their guns in if they didn't have a license, sealing it with their handprint, and retrieve it on their way out. The train stopped, a screen counting down from sixty, to give people time.

Mary wasn't sure why she'd been asked to come. The SRP hadn't said another word to her or acknowledged that conversation again. Mary hadn't read what was in the envelope either. She didn't think she should. It was just a plain, white envelope with _Dana Scully_ written on it in flowing cursive. Mary hadn't slept that night, worried over what had just happened. Was the SRP really like her? And, if so, how could she tell? Was there a way to see that? And when should she contact her grandmother? Had it really been four years ago?

Graduation Day. Her mother, grandmother, and her other half-sister, Esther, had been there. Every time Mary saw her grandmother, it shocked her. The image of her never left her thoughts, but every time she saw her she couldn't believe she was as old as she was. Her skin smooth and fair, her blue eyes bright and alert, she didn't look any older than thirty-five or thirty-six, but she was in her eighties. Mary was taller than her, so she had to bend down a little to hug her. She always smelled nice, like vanilla and cinnamon, a deep spicy scent that reminded her of autumn. It was comforting. Maternal.

"Congratulations, Mary," she said. "It isn't easy to get through military school. I'm very proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself."

Mary smiled down at her, her cheeks flushing. This kind of attention from her grandmother always warmed her. "Thank you."

When Mary hugged her mother she could sense something was wrong. Something had happened between them, her mother and grandmother. Mary tried to listen for it, see it in her mother's mind, but her mother had become very skilled at blocking things she didn't want Mary to see.

"Mary," her mother kissed her cheek, her Spanish accent still thick. "I have missed you so much. And I'm so proud of you," her voice cracked with emotion. "So very proud." She wrapped Mary in her arms again. Mary couldn't tell if she was crying or not. The warmth emanating from her had something else mixed in with it. Guilt, maybe? Desperation?

Mary looked over at Esther, standing there awkwardly, looking at Mary intently. Something had happened. She tried to listen to what Esther was telling her, projecting it into her mind, but it was difficult with her mother and grandmother there. She hoped Esther would tell her later, but she never did. Mary tried hard to ignore the tension between all of them that afternoon, but it hung there as thick as the Southern humidity, clinging to them like a second skin. To this day, she still wasn't sure what had happened. No one really ever told her anything.

When the number on the screen turned to zero, the train shot forward, and WELCOME TO THE WEST REGION flashed on the screen, first in English then in Spanish. After a few minutes, the differences between South and West appeared in the windows. Indigenous people on horseback, some dressed in traditional attire, some were not. Some of them scrolling through phones and tablets as they rode along. There were no laws about using a device while riding a horse. Or was there? It looked odd, mismatched. There were blocks of abandoned homes and neighborhoods followed by vibrant communities, their names written in native languages that Mary couldn't read. There was a band of Hopi, riding on motorcycles alongside the train. There were dozens of them, a cloud of dust whipping up behind them. Men and women, their long black hair flowing in the wind, they waved at the train as they veered off to the left. They were riding up towards Las Vegas. Or what was left of Las Vegas. It had been burned to the ground in the 30s, flattened by tanks, and shut down. Now the Hopi were still the process of converting it back into a functional city again. One without all the excesses and corruption of the Old Republic. After all, this had been their land for centuries before pioneers came.

After a while, the landscape changed to greenery and palm trees. They were getting closer to the coast. The train stopped, and they escorted the SRP to the car waiting for her. The green flag of the South Region was set up on the front. West Guard stood by to escort her. They weren't in uniform, but they wore red bandanas with the West Region seal. Half of them were native people, and the other half almost entirely Black or Hispanic. White people were the minority here. They nodded to them, welcoming them to the West. The green of the South alongside the red of the West always reminded Mary of Christmas time. She wondered if anyone else ever thought that, too.

They rode along, West Guard in front of them on motorcycles, guns strapped around them. West Guard behind them on red horses, waving to citizens that called out to them. Mary's heart was pounding with excitement. This was exhilarating. She loved to see how people stopped to salute them, parents pointing them out to their children. There were times she wished her father and half-siblings could see her in these moments; see how important she was. It might impress them, and they'd treat her with respect. But they probably wouldn't care. Maybe Esther, the only one out of those three little brats that had ever been kind to her, would find this fascinating. Her grandparents would be proud of her, though. She was sure of that.

They were riding through a community with gigantic homes. Wealthy people had lived here once. They weren't really homes, more like palaces. Some were abandoned and some were not. There were no road signs anywhere, so she wasn't sure what this used to be.

The SRP seemed unimpressed by all this. She sat back in her seat, on her phone. She'd been doing this for a long time, so this was nothing to her. Her aide was seated beside her, across from Mary. She noticed him looking at her, looking her up and down. He wore vintage, wire-rimmed glasses sometimes. The lenses made his eyes look bigger. When Mary met his eyes, he smiled and inclined his head. He'd never looked at her like that before. Had the SRP told him about their conversation the other night?

But she forgot about all of that when she glanced out of the window again.

There it was: the Pacific.

Deep blue, and rippling into the horizon. She'd never seen it before. It was different than the Atlantic. No patches of oil. No discoloration from chemicals. No contaminated beaches. Clear, clean, and breath-taking. As they rode by, she could see a group of Navajo, doing some kind of ceremony, some kind of dance. Drums beating, high pitched chanting that gave her goosebumps. They did this for themselves now, and not for tourists. They were riding up a long driveway to the WRP's home now. It hadn't occurred to her until that moment that she would get to see Hosteen again. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she remembered how he'd looked at her before.

The building was mostly glass with enormous windows that faced the ocean. There were people walking pumas along the grounds. A group of Apache elders stood out in the yard, long white hair, wrapped up and braided. They watched the car, their faces stern, but not unfriendly. The car pulled up to the front, and they went inside. The Regional Secretary greeted them.

"Welcome to the West, ma'am," he said, inclining his head.

"We're not very late are we?" The SRP removed her hat and sunglasses, handing them off to her aide.

"Not at all. But Hosteen isn't here. He's gone up to the Northwest Corner. He won't be back until tomorrow."

"My, it must be freezing up there this time of year. But that's probably for the best. We need some time to rest anyway." She turned to her aide. "Gibson, go make sure they're taking our luggage to the right hotel."

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted her, and walked back outside.

Gibson not Gilbert, Mary noted to herself.

They were going to be here a week or so. Thinking about it made Mary's heart flutter, a shot of adrenaline and euphoria came over her. She had a good feeling, a feeling like something wonderful was about to happen, but she didn't know what. And that was okay. She was ready for whatever was coming her way.


	4. Chapter 4

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2040_

 _10:11 am_

They marched, single file, walking past gardens that used to be full of flowers, speakers that had played happy music, and long dried up fountains. Signs and maps detailing where they were had been removed, but some still remained, spray-painted with new directions or with X's. Mary looked up at the line in front of her. There was a hundred of them at least, dressed exactly the same in white shirts and tactical pants. At this age, with all their heads shaved, it wasn't so easy to tell the boys from the girls. It was purposeful, of course. No special treatment; they were all the same.

The sign Mary saw first said _Epcot_. An arrow pointed off to the right, but the letters below it were crossed out with spray paint. They were marching under a castle that looked medieval and cartoonish all at once. Mary heard one of the boys whisper behind her that it was Cinderella's Castle. Mary immediately recognized the name of Cinderella. It was a story she could relate to, a story that gave her hope. But she didn't really believe Cinderella had lived there.

One of the sergeants came by, touching their heads, counting off: 1, 2, 3. Mary was a two. Another sergeant ordered the twos to follow her. Mary looked around as they marched, beginning to put the pieces together. This was an amusement park once. There were probably still amusement parks elsewhere in the NAU, but the people of the South didn't have the time or the resources for amusements anymore. The NAU purchased the park, took the technology used to create the rides, enhanced it, and now the South Region Military Academy used it for training.

They set them into seats on a large structure that went so far up into the sky that Mary had to crane her neck to see the end of it. People actually used to do this for fun? Or something similar to this at least. But they weren't riding up along the outside, the car moved inside, into darkness. Compressed air hissed as the car slid along a track, until they were almost vertical; headed straight up into a dark abyss. Mary couldn't see the end of it, and that frightened her the most.

Mary whimpered, breathing heavily, as straps came around them, buckling them in. What was happening? Straps came out and wound around her legs, and then over each of her shoulders in an X shape over her abdomen.

One of the sergeants came up to check that they were strapped in properly.

"Seven hundred!" She yelled to someone behind them, someone Mary couldn't see.

Seven hundred what?

A sound, like jet engine combined with a vacuum, whirred in her ears.

"Eight hundred," the sergeant yelled again.

There was an asthmatic boy behind her wheezing. They were going to have to pull him off.

"Eight-fifty!"

Mary turned to look at the girl sitting next to her. She didn't know her, but they joined hands anyway. What was happening? Eight-fifty what?

"Consciousness confirmed," the sergeant yelled. "Nine hundred!"

The motion-sickness meds entered their bloodstream first, through the metal disks implanted just below their thyroids. Mary immediately felt her stomach settle, and the space between her ears seemed to flatten out.

Straps came out from either side of Mary's head, wrapping around her forehead to keep her head in place. She wasn't able to turn her head to look at the girl sitting next to her.

"One thousand!"

The whirring of the engine/vacuum was louder now, a high-pitched screech Mary felt in her teeth.

The meds to combat fear came in next. Mary felt it settling the reptilian part of her brain, slowly, methodically. She and the girl beside her loosened their grip on each other's hands. She looked up the track into the darkness. She couldn't see the end of it. No big deal.

"Two thousand!"

Two thousand what? Don't know. Don't care. Doesn't matter.

Mary didn't hear the asthmatic breathing of the boy behind her anymore; he'd been pulled off.

"Engage!"

They were launched into the dark structure so fast it seemed a part of her was still on the ground, unable to catch up. Mary wanted to scream, but her head was pinned back from all the force. Tears leaked from her eyes, as they were catapulted upwards. The car twisted, turning them upside down. Twisting them around and around in a corkscrew. There was light up ahead, blinding, she shut her eyes because it hurt.

Then Mary felt it: a lightness and weightlessness as gravity ceased to exist. The straps around her loosened up a bit as she floated up, coming out of her seat. She opened her eyes and watched her hand still holding the girl's hand go up between them. It was a feeling like being trapped inside a box for days and finally breaking free. They were still moving, but they weren't. There were still lights flashing rapidly by her. They were in some kind of suspension. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like hours.

Then they were moving again, down into darkness, the straps tightening around her as they plummeted back down to the ground. The car stopped abruptly, then gently steered them back outside. After the straps came off, Mary put her hand to her nose. It was bleeding. She looked around at some of the cadets as they came off. Some of them dizzy, some of them vomiting. The meds must not have worked as well for them. Mary turned to the girl next to her.

"What was that?" The girl asked her.

"I don't know," Mary replied. "But I hope we get to do it again."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _5:36pm_

Mary rode on the train up through the East. It had crossed the border about an hour ago, but she still had a couple more before she reached her grandmother's house. Inside her bag was the envelope from the SRP, still sealed, because Mary hadn't tried to read it. She watched the trees in the windows starting to lose their leaves as the train traveled further north. It was approaching the New River now.

She'd returned from the West last week. Most of her time there was spent fulfilling the most boring part of her job: standing quietly at attention while the SRP attended meetings, dinners, and hosted an open forum with the WRP. She and the other guards stood there, as silent sentinels, still and keeping watch. Keeping guard. At the academy, they'd told them the best way to deal with those long, empty hours was to focus on their breath. Be in the present moment and not think at all about how much longer they had to stand there. Focus on the present, observe everything around them, and try to go through each sense.

Mary was adequately trained to handle those long, empty hours, but it didn't mean she wouldn't get bored. Hosteen and Covarrubias had many meetings together, some of them were private and the Guard and their aides were kept out of them. Hosteen didn't look at or say anything to her until one of the last days they were there.

They were leaving the WRP's home to ride back to the hotel. He said good-bye to the SRP, then turned towards Mary.

"Corporal Scully," he said, giving her a smile and a nod, before he turned and went back inside. It had come out of nowhere and Mary didn't have time to respond back. She liked to replay that in her head. He hadn't acknowledged any of the other South Guards or Gibson. Just her. She replayed the image of him, standing there in a suit, a choker around his neck, inlaid with jade, his black hair pulled back at the base of his neck. There was a tattoo of a scorpion just behind his ear. The whole interaction made her smile. Only her name was on her badge, not her rank. He must have asked someone or looked her up in the registry.

On the last night, the SRP sent Gibson to bring Mary to her. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but he still looked at her in that odd way, smiling and nodding at her. Mary wasn't in uniform, but the SRP didn't seem to notice or care. When Mary entered, she was on her tablet, propped up on the hotel room desk.

"Thank you, Gibson," she said, closing out tabs in her browser.

He bowed slightly, then left.

"Well," the SRP said, turning to face her. "What do you think?"

"About what, ma'am?"

"Here," she gestured around her.

Mary thought for a minute. "The ocean is beautiful. Not like back home."

The SRP smiled at her and went over to the window. "I forget you don't have a point of reference. You have no memory of his place before the Union. You weren't even born yet."

Mary followed her gaze out of the window to the side of a mountain.

"Hollywood," the SRP said. "This was Hollywood. They made films here."

Mary continued to look out the window, too, but she couldn't see what the SRP saw.

"There was a sign just over there," she gestured at the side of the mountain. "I guess it really was an eyesore. Looks much better without it."

Mary wasn't sure what she was talking about, then she remembered the white letters that had been there. She'd seen it old movies and television shows.

The SRP left the window and sat across from Mary. "We're trying to get the Aleutian Islands back. Hawaii, too. I think both of us together might be able to manage them. But Japan and Russia might not want to accept our bid. That's classified by the way. Not a word about that to anyone else."

Mary remembered bits of pieces of conversation from a meeting earlier in the week. Something about the Aleutian Islands and convicts, but she really wasn't paying attention.

The SRP was watching her with her glowing eyes, a slight smile on her face. "Do you like him?"

"Who?"

"Leonard. Hosteen. Do you like him?"

Mary's face reddened. "Um…he's very nice. A good President. He manages the West very well."

The SRP's smile deepened. "You know what I mean."

Mary looked down at her hands, not knowing what to say. It wasn't hard to see why a woman would be attracted to him. And some men, too.

The SRP took a sip of her water. "We're going to the UK in a few weeks. Meet the King and Queen. Probably the Prince and Princess as well. Everyone over there is so fascinated with us, but I just think they are curious to see if we will fail like their Union did."

Mary nodded, still looking down at her hands.

"But," the SRP said. "Before that, I'll be coming back here. I'd like you to come. I can introduce you to him. Formally. I think he might like to spend time with someone like you."

Mary looked up at her. The SRP was smiling, her eyes sparkling. She was serious. Mary started to feel anxious.

"You don't have to. But I do hope you consider it."

"Okay," Mary replied. "I mean, yes. Yes, ma'am."

"You don't have to do that when it's just us."

Mary left that discussion mystified, excited, nervous, and with another feeling she was still trying to figure out. A suspicious feeling. She was still thinking about it as the train slowed down, reaching the station. Mary quickly pushed the button above her seat so it would stop. She hadn't been paying attention.

She was going to have to walk the rest of the way, but her grandmother didn't live far from here. Mary put on her coat as she walked, her breath fogging up in front of her. It was cold up here, and she'd bought a coat just for this reason.

Her grandmother had replied almost immediately to her message. It felt like she'd been waiting for it. Mary hoped it would be a nice visit. Her grandmother was quite introverted and reclusive. Mary wondered how she filled her time, because she had plenty of that. The Union kept her in a bubble as punishment, restricted her travel, and probably limited her network access, too. She was a treasonous Old Republican, and would be treated as such for the rest of her life. Mary couldn't understand what was so treasonous about her. She'd left the FBI with her grandfather. If anything, she'd behaved as if she detested the Old Republic. But there was probably more to it that Mary didn't know. It wasn't like anyone told her anything.

Mary pulled out her phone and sent her a text.

 _I'm here._


	5. Chapter 5

_The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _8:37pm_

After Mary got over her prerequisite shock, she hugged her grandmother, who invited her in to sit down. Mary looked around her house, remembering it from when she was little. It hadn't changed much. It always smelled like autumn. She remembered that. It was comforting. It felt like her grandfather was still here. Not like a ghost or spirit, but it was as if he'd been so larger than life, so important to so many that his presence lingered here in their memories.

Her house was neat as a pin. Mary thought that must be what she does all day: clean and clean again to keep herself occupied. It must be maddening. She'd been a doctor and an FBI agent, both had kept her busy and needed. Being idle like this must drive her crazy.

She didn't look much different from four years ago, but her red hair was longer, parted on one side. There were white streaks in it, but it looked fake; it didn't match the rest of her.

"How's the Guard?" She asked her.

"It's good. I went to the West Region last week, with the President."

"Avenham?"

Mary shook her head.

"Oh," her grandmother nodded. "I keep forgetting there's four. Avenham is the only one I ever hear about. I can't receive news or broadcasts from any of the other regions. And not even from the Center sometimes."

Mary looked warily over at her bag. They can't possibly keep her that sheltered, can they?

"So, I'm sorry that I didn't get to see it," her grandmother continued. "The event with the African Union. I wanted to. I told your mother to record it for me. I don't know if she did or not."

"It's alright," Mary replied. "I was just holding the flag."

Then the uncomfortable silence started. Neither of them knowing what to say to the other. Mary hated these long silences when they were alone together. It always made her say stupid things to keep the conversation going. Why was it so difficult for them to talk to each other?

Mary looked around, trying to find something to start a conversation about. There were lots of pictures of the triplets, but none of her. It hurt her feelings. There used to be, when she was the first and only grandchild, then the triplets were born and she was covered in their perfect, untainted shadow.

After a few minutes, Mary excused herself to use the bathroom just to disrupt the silence. As she made her way down the hall, she saw a frame with a picture slideshow on display on the wall. She watched a picture come into view, one of her grandmother, and her mother, holding her as a baby. The text at the bottom said: Dana, Emily, and Mary, 2028. She smiled. There was one of her after all.

Mary pressed pause and looked at it. Her grandmother didn't look any different except her hair was shorter. And she was smiling. When she smiled, it lit up her entire face. Her mother didn't look much different either. They could have been sisters rather than mother and daughter. She wondered who'd taken the picture. Probably her grandfather.

Her grandmother came down the hall and stood next to her.

"That was your baptism," she said, smiling.

Mary looked over at her.

"Your grandfather, he wasn't Catholic, but he wanted to stand up there with you and your mother. There were all these other couples and he didn't want her up there all by herself."

Mary looked at the picture again. She hadn't known that. But she'd known her father wasn't there.

"He didn't believe in those kinds of things, but he wanted to be there for you two."

They stood there for a minute, her grandmother put her arm around her, looking at her.

"I'm glad you're here," she said.

Mary smiled. Maybe it would be a nice visit, and they'd have things to talk about. "Me, too."

"You said you have something to give me?"

They made their way back into the living room, and Mary wondered if she should wait. Maybe she should read it first. The SRP hadn't been clear on how they knew each other. "Yes, but can I give to you later? I'm very tired."

"Of course," her grandmother said, coming back over to her, and putting her arm around her again. "We can go to Mass in the morning, okay?"

"Okay."

There was a noise above them. The sound of aircraft passing over. It was loud. Mary looked up.

"It's drones," her grandmother said wearily. "With heat sensors. It's curfew, and they're just making sure we're all home."

* * *

Mary lay in the tiny bed in the tiny room that her and her mother shared for three years after she was born. She couldn't sleep because of the noise, which was absolutely nothing. The silence here was deafening. She could hear the trains, but just barely. They were deep in a hollow between two mountains, and it seemed no sound or light came down here. There was no noise at all and it was completely dark. She'd been here for a couple days now, and still couldn't adjust.

There were no sounds of Dominique talking in her sleep. No sounds of shift-change, when the evening shift came into the dorms, saying goodnight to the graveyard shift leaving the dorms. No beeping sounds of trucks backing up, making their deliveries. No sounds of the trains speeding through, then slowing to recharge before they made their long trek under the Gulf to the islands. She hadn't realized until then how accustomed she gotten to all that noise. It meant the world still existed, people were still alive, and everything was okay.

Out here, it seemed as if they'd been swallowed into a black hole of nothing. How could her grandmother stand this? She got out of bed, and quietly made her way down the hall, with her blanket wrapped around her. She went outside and sat on the steps. It was cold, but maybe it would help make her sleepy. She pulled her hair around her, which she kept as long as she could stand. Ever since having her head shaved, she'd let it grow and grow. It came in darker after that; brassy-red into a deep burgundy. She liked having it around her arms and shoulders; she felt covered and protected for some reason.

She thought about how her grandmother lived. How she had to drive a car that was so old it needed a key to start it. How she mostly walked places because the closest place to fill it with gasoline was too far and her travel allowance had run out for that day. How she had to start out each day recording where she would be, for how long, and how many kilometers it was from her home. How she had to plug a device into her car that pulled up an application that detected how much fuel she had, measured the tire pressure, the battery life, and mapped out where she was going, sending the information to intelligence analysts in the East Council. Mary stared at the device as they drove to Mass that morning, the NAU seal in the corner. Why did she have to do all of this? This was absolutely ridiculous. These kinds of things were used on Old Republicans who'd committed vandalism, sabotage, or illegal hacking. Certainly her grandmother had never done a thing like that, had she?

Mary decided right then that she would say something to the SRP. Maybe she could send Avenham a request to give her a pardon. She would still have to live here, but she could get some of her privacy back. At Mass, Mary guessed most of the people there were Old Republicans, too. They had the same weary and resigned looks her grandmother had. They must all live in this area.

As she sat there, watching her breath in the cold air, she compared her grandmother to other grandmothers she knew of. In old movies and TV shows, she'd seen grandmothers sitting in rocking chairs, knitting, baking, and making quilts. The grandparents of her friends dyed their grey and white hair with streaks of purple, gold, and blue. They retouched the tattoos they'd gotten in their youth. They joined retirement communities for nudists and swingers. They rode off in RVs around the Union, listening to the music they grew up with, basses thumping on highways. They collected cell phones, cassette tapes, CDs, and game cartridges that reminded them of their younger days and put them on display in their homes. They had freedom, and plenty of time to live up their golden years.

Her grandmother did none of those things. She ran.

She ran up through her neighborhood. She sprinted around the curvy roads, up steep inclines, and whipped through the wilderness, dodging trees and low-hanging branches. Mary wanted to run with her, but she seemed to want that time alone. She ran until she was sick. She ran until she was dizzy, sweating, and panting heavily when she came back. Mary figured out that this was her only outlet; her only escape. The only way she had to let out her frustrations and her loneliness. She would come back, breathless, and gulp down a whole bottle of water, falling to her knees on the floor.

The other day, she came back, breathing heavily, she collapsed on her couch. Mary brought her some water. She drank it, then looked down at her hands, she flipped them over and stared at them.

"Look at me," she said to Mary, panting. "I'm eighty-five."

She looked over at Mary. She wasn't bragging. She was astonished, distressed.

"I'm eighty-five." She said again.

Mary sat down next to her, at a complete loss for what to respond with. Mary thought maybe she would tell her, she would explain why she was like this. Because Mary really didn't know for sure. She knew she'd been abducted and had tests done on her, but that was all she knew.

But her grandmother didn't explain. She just sat there, catching her breath, staring at her hands.

"What was it you have to give me?" She asked suddenly, changing the subject.

Mary went into the tiny room and pulled the envelope out of her bag. She held it between her hands, hesitating. She handed it to her slowly, as she sat back down. Maybe this would help her feel better knowing someone she once knew had thought of her. Maybe it wasn't anything bad.

"Who's this from?" Her grandmother asked.

"The SRP. President Covarrubias."

Her grandmother froze, nearly dropping it. Her eyes widened as she looked at Mary.

"Who? Who did you say?"

Mary felt like she'd just said a swear word in front of her. "The South Region President," she replied, her voice small. "President Covarrubias."

Her grandmother just stared at her. There was something happening in her mind. She was remembering something. She opened it. As she read it, her expression changed, a panic, a disbelief in her eyes.

"She said she knew you," Mary explained. "And him, too. She made it sound like you'd worked together or something."

Mary watched her carefully fold the paper back up and put it back in the envelope. Her hands were shaking.

"Yeah," she said after a minute. "Yeah, we did know her."

Mary started to feel guilty. She didn't think the SRP would have written anything too upsetting. She'd made it sound like they'd been friends.

"I'm sorry, um..," her grandmother looked around. "I thought she died. And she's…she's one of the four now. It's…" she shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, unable to finish her thought.

Mary started to apologize, but her grandmother cut her off.

"I just wasn't expecting it that's all." Her grandmother smiled at her, but it was flat, forced. "It's good to hear from her, though. It's good to know she's doing well. Thank you for giving it to me."

Mary wanted to ask her things, but she didn't. Especially what the SRP had written. She probably should have read it before giving it to her. Yet again, something hidden from her. Yet again, something she didn't know and no one wanted to explain.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _9:48am_

Mary stood in the WRP's home, in the entrance, looking around. There were paintings of native men and women up everywhere. There were some black and white photographs, too. Historic figures from the 18th and 19th centuries though the 21st. Some of them she recognized and some of them she didn't.

They'd arrived three days ago, and Covarrubias and Hosteen had gone to another private meeting. Afterwards, the SRP came down the hall, over to her, and took her hand, leading her inside. It caught her off guard. She didn't have time to react.

"Wait," Mary said to her, stopping. "I need to ask you something."

The SRP stopped and turned to look at her.

"I mean, ma'am. I'd like to talk to you, ma'am." Mary said looking around.

"What?"

"What did you write to my grandmother?" Mary whispered to her. "She was upset."

The SRP shrugged. "I was just saying hello. And that we should see each other soon."

"But she was upset. Why?"

The SRP looked around. Gibson was over in the corner, pretending not to listen. The other South Guards were a safe distance behind them.

"She didn't expect me to survive," the SRP answered.

"Survive what? Did you work with her? Were you in the FBI with her?"

But before she could reply, the WRP and his aides were coming over to them.

"Leonard," the SRP said, clearly happy for the interruption. "This is Corporal Mary Scully. One of my Guard."

Mary froze, looking at him. This was sudden. She wasn't prepared. The SRP slowly backed away, and went looking for Gibson, leaving her stranded there.

He inclined his head. "Corporal Scully."

She just stood there, like an actor on stage forgetting his lines. His deep brown eyes searched hers.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you afraid I'll scalp you?"

"Um…," Mary replied, trying to remember how to talk.

A smile broke out on his face, and the other men around him started to laugh.

"I'm kidding," he said, holding out his hand. "I didn't meant to put your off."

She took his hand, shaking it. "Oh." She tried to laugh, too, but it sounded dumb.

He put his hand on her back, gently guiding her into another room.

"You know," he said. "We didn't invent that. Scalping? The colonists taught us that."

They were walking into a different room, statues and artwork everywhere.

"They took things from us, we took things from them," he continued. "But they got the best of us, and we got the worst of them."

They passed by a life-size sculpture that made Mary stop and stare. It was an androgynous figure. Clearly indigenous, but the figure's attire seemed to be mixed with different styles and symbols, blending together different time periods and locations.

"The Maori sent that to us," Hosteen said behind her.

"The Maori," Mary said. "In New Zealand?"

"Yeah," he smiled at her. "It was a gift. Long before I was elected."

Mary stared at the sculpture. She liked it. In a strange way, it seemed to bring things together, a sense of completion and wholeness. Every angle of the figure seemed to be a different person. It had been carved in such a way to seem like one person, but still different from each side.

He put his hand on her back again, guiding her. Where were they going? Mary felt distracted, confused. What was the SRP going to say? Is this really happening right now?

They go into a sitting room, one of the windows overlooking the ocean. He invites her to sit with him at the table.

"Leave us," he says to his Guard and aides.

"Well," he said, looking at her. "We are formally acquainted at last."

She liked how he looked at her, into her eyes, not like how Gibson looked at her, up and down in a slightly creepy way.

"Yes," Mary replied, unable to think of anything else to say. She looked at the window, at the ocean.

He followed her gaze. "It's beautiful, but you've seen the ocean before, haven't you?"

"It's not like this back home," Mary was distracted still, not sure where to put her attention. What did the SRP survive? Was she really sitting here with him like this? Why was her grandmother so upset? What is happening right now?

"I've seen it," he said. "It's a toxic mess. Did they ever find out who did it?"

Mary looked over at him, his brown eyes searching hers. Why did he look at her like that? As if he knew her? He probably knew her grandparents, too. Her heart sank. This is probably what this is about.

"The investigations are still open," Mary answered. "But everyone knows it was Old Republicans. Hiding evidence. Or just out of spite."

"Have you all had any success cleaning it up?"

"We had some. But Hurricane Sally came through. Carried most of the mess up the coast."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a minute. "Will you be here? The whole week?"

"Yes," she replied. "Yes, Sir."

"I'm Leonard. If I can call you Mary?"

"Okay."

What is happening right now? She could feel her cheeks reddening.

"Come here tomorrow, Mary. Just you. I know it's the Guard's day off, but it's not official business."

"Okay."

"I want to show you something."

"Okay." Was she a parrot now?

He smiled at her; his Presidential smile that brightened his face and eyes. "You don't have to. I mean, if you already have plans."

"No," she shook her head. "I can be here."

"Good. I'll send a car to pick you up."


	6. Chapter 6

_The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2038_

 _4:15pm_

Ephraim and Eve were at the table playing their game. It was too cold to go outside, and it had started snowing again as they left school. Every once in a while, they'd say something loudly, in Mary's direction, making sure she could hear them.

"I'll bet she has a tail," Eve said.

"Like a lizard!" Ephraim exclaimed.

Mary rolled her eyes and tried to keep reading. She was across the room, on her tablet. She kept a collection of stories, videos, blogs, films, music, etc. of inspiration on it. She found ones about people who'd been born into terrible circumstances and made their way out of it. Some of it was fiction and some of it was real. She was reading about a girl in India who'd been born with no arms, but she'd taught herself to write and type with her feet. She ended up writing six novels, all of them winning awards.

"Her mother probably has a tail," Eve said.

Obsessively reading was the only way she could stand the time she had to spend with the triplets and Madison, her step-mother. Mary could hear her upstairs, pretending to clean or whatever, but she was probably drinking.

"Stop that!" Esther said to them. She was sitting on the floor, wrapping presents for a birthday party she was going to.

Ephraim and Eve glared at her, and continued with their game.

Mary didn't know why her father put her through this, but he probably didn't know what they said to her. And if Mary told him, he'd tell her they were younger, immature, and to just give them a chance. They'd grow to like her. They were family. But they didn't like her because their mother didn't like her. At least Esther was nice.

"What are you reading?" Esther asked Mary, coming to sit by her.

"Just a story," Mary replied.

"About how to cut off her tail," Ephraim said.

Eve giggled along with him.

"Stop it!" Esther said to them.

Mary looked at the time. She had only about an hour or so to endure before her father would be here to take her to the train station. She didn't know why he left her here or where he went. This was not her family. The triplets were everywhere in this house. Hanging up on the walls, in frames, their awards and accomplishments displayed. There was Eve, in her pageant pictures, pageants that she worked hard for, pageants that she won all the time. Her pretty golden hair topped with a tiara as she smiled holding her trophy and a bouquet of roses, EVE MULDER etched in gold on plaques and in ink on certificates. Madison made Esther do them, too, until Esther chopped off locks of her hair in defiance. Madison had it cut short to even out the ragged edges, and it made it easier to tell them apart. They couldn't trick anyone, and Mary had been tricked before.

There were photos of Madison, too, in her pageant heyday. Her bright white teeth in a winning smile, her dark eyes full of clarity and happiness back then. She waved to people, wearing a sparkling silver ball gown, MISS NORTH REGION written in blue on the sash across her. Mary didn't mind looking at her pictures so much because Madison didn't look like that anymore. She was drinking herself ugly, and the burden she carried to keep this family's secrets made the skin under her eyes sag and her hair fall limp and flat across her shoulders. Mary got a little bit of satisfaction knowing that she was falling apart. She'd never said one nice thing to Mary, so Mary had no guilt at all about how she felt.

There was Ephraim, too, walking across the stage at his school's auditorium to accept the best at everything: best attendance, best team player, best art project, best at this and best at that. He never lost anything. There were dozens of videos of him at his piano recital on Madison's social media page. Only eight years old and he could play Chopin, Liszt, and Schubert without any sheet music to guide him.

There were hardly any of Esther anywhere, and that was mostly because she would take them down and hide them to make her mother angry. She liked to do the opposite of everyone else, proving herself to be rebellious at an early age.

And, of course, there was nothing anywhere of Mary. Mary wasn't as pretty as her half-sisters and Mary knew it. Her mother told her she would grow into her looks, but Mary knew that was Adult for: you're ugly now, but you might be pretty later.

A phone rang upstairs and Mary heard Madison answer it.

"William!" She snapped. "Where the hell are you?"

She was slurring her words a little, so it was obvious she'd been drinking this whole time.

There was more fussing as a door closed upstairs and Madison went into a room to continue her conversation. Mary glanced worryingly at the time. Was she going to have to stay here longer?

Finally, Madison came down the stairs, her blouse buttoned up unevenly, her hair un-brushed around her face. She put on her coat and scarf, and looked at Mary.

"Come on," she mumbled.

Mary jumped up, turning off her tablet, and putting on her coat and gloves. She was probably too drunk to be driving, but Mary had steered for her before.

"She kind of moves like a lizard," Ephraim said to Eve.

"Does she really have to go?" Esther said, coming over.

"I'll be back in a minute," Madison said to her.

They went out to the car, leaving hollow footprints in the snow. Madison half-cleared the windshield with her hands before getting in. Mary sat in the back, as far from her as possible. The smell of her, wine, mixed with layers of perfume, made Mary queasy.

They were only halfway to the train station before Madison pulled over to vomit in the snow. Mary sighed and got out. She held back Madison's hair, turning her head away, as she got sick.

"Don't touch me," Madison said, but she didn't try to push Mary away.

When they got back in, Mary sat in the passenger seat, her hands on the steering wheel. Mary was tall enough to operate the car herself, and she'd learned to drive months ago just from these moments, but an eleven year old driving around would attract too much attention.

Madison braked and gassed while Mary steered them to the train station in silence. When Mary got out, she looked at her step-mother, trying to ignore the concern she felt.

"Maybe you should stay here for a minute," Mary said to her.

Madison looked at her for a few moments, considering, but then her eyes filled with rage.

"Filthy inbred," Madison said, shaking her head, before reaching over to close the door.

Mary watched her drive away, bumping into the curb before she turned. She was probably going to have to pull over again.

Mary sat inside the station, pulling out her phone. There was a text from her father.

 _I'm sorry, sweetheart. I love you, and I'll see you next time._

Mary turned off her phone, pulled out her tablet, and continued to read.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _11:11am_

Mary stood outside the SRP's suite, wondering if she should knock. She thought for sure the SRP would have wanted to finish their conversation last night, but she didn't send for Mary. It made her angry. What was she going to tell her? It was clear her and her grandmother had not been friends at all. She should have told her that, and why hadn't she?

Mary was still standing there, thinking about what to do, when the door opened and Gibson came out.

He looked at her for a minute, up and down, smiling. "You look very nice, Corporal Scully."

"No, I don't," she said quickly, defensively.

She'd tried not to look nice. She'd tried to look normal, but not too nice. She didn't know how to dress without her uniform to see the WRP. She'd almost worn it anyway even though it was their day off. She didn't want to look like she cared too much or cared too little. In the end, she'd chosen jeans and a nice blouse that complimented her eyes and hair. Now, as Gibson stared at her, she wanted to run back to her room and change again.

He just nodded at her and smiled. "I'm sure she'll send for you later, but she's having a conference call right now with Burns."

"Okay," Mary replied, trying to sound like she didn't care, and walked down the hall towards the elevators. She could feel Gibson's eyes on her as she turned the corner. Why did the SRP keep such a creepy man in her administration?

Mary went down to the lobby, her hands shaking with nerves. As He Stands was waiting in there for her.

"Good morning, Corporal Scully," he said smiling.

"Good morning, sir" she replied, wanting to ask him where they were going and what they were doing, because she didn't know. But she didn't want to look as anxious as she actually was. She wanted to pretend like this happened to her all the time; that attractive political leaders always wanted to see her.

He drove her up to the WRP's home. There were less people there today, but there were pumas being walked around on leashes. There were no cages for them. They had their own buildings and yards to wander around in. They'd been brought up and trained here since they were young and were used to people.

As He Stands left her in the entrance way. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw another man sitting there in a T-Shirt and blue jeans looking at his phone. As He Stands hadn't indicated that she should follow him, so Mary just sat down under a portrait of Zitkala-Sa and waited.

She looked through her phone as she sat there. There was a social media platform especially for the Guard. They had to have their own, highly secured and encrypted, because sometimes classified information was shared over it. Mary saw pictures of Dominique and their friends enjoying their day off in the islands. There were only a couple of islands that were hardly ever affected by hurricanes, and they always went there to enjoy the uncontaminated beaches. Mary felt a longing for a minute to be there, too. And she would if the SRP hadn't wanted her to come back. Thinking about her made Mary irritated again. She'd better send for her, or Mary would go there herself tonight. No matter how late it was.

She thought she heard the other man in the entrance leave while she was looking at her phone, but she heard someone walk over to her. She looked up, then jumped when she saw who it was.

"Good morning, Mary. Are you ready?"

Even on her days off, Covarrubias still looked and behaved very presidential; very regal and professional. Apparently, Hosteen did not. She would not have recognized him like this, and she hadn't when she'd walked in. It was him sitting over near her this whole time. His hair was usually slicked back in a ponytail, but it was in a loose braid over one shoulder, pieces of his black hair were around his face. He didn't look presidential at all. He looked just like anyone else here.

Mary immediately and involuntarily stood to salute, but stopped herself halfway.

He smiled at her. "You didn't know it was me at all, did you?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

He gestured for her to follow him. "It's Leonard, remember? And believe it or not, I'm actually relieved you didn't."

He took her back out front and there was a limousine out there now. It was filled with people she didn't know, men and women, all dressed casually, too. They smiled at her and said hello as she got inside. Leonard sat next to her as they drove away. His leg was touching hers and it made her feel like a giddy fifteen year old that drew hearts around the initials of the boy she had a crush on.

Don't make it weird, Mary. Don't. Make it. Weird.

"We're going to the Mojave. There's a solar farm there, have you seen it?"

Mary shook her head. There were solar farms all over the Union now. It's what powered the nation and kept the trains running. She'd seen fields of solar panels before, tilting to follow the sun's arc in the sky, but not this particular one.

"We've been siphoning some of that energy off for another project. As soon as Burns signs, we can complete it. But he's stubborn," he winked at her. "I know you were born there. Up North. That place has a history of stubborn leaders."

Mary smiled at him. He was right. They did. The first NRP was a Lakota woman who had gone down in history as the Wicked Witch of the North. Burns had been her secretary. People used to call him her Flying Monkey.

They drove south down highways, some of them crammed with other motorists, pedestrians, and horseback riders; some of them empty and the roads unmarked. Hosteen didn't say anything else to her for the rest of the ride, he talked to the others in the limo in Navajo. After a while, they rolled to a stop in front of three pickup trucks, older double-wides that ran on diesel. Everyone began climbing up into the back of them. Leonard climbed into one and Mary hesitated for a minute.

"Here," he said to her, smiling, holding his hand out to help her up. They sat in the back and he knocked on the cab to let the driver know they were in. The trucks began driving across the desert, a cloud of dust behind them, bouncing over the bumpy terrain. Mary held her hair in one hand to keep it from flying around her face too much, but a few strands escaped anyway. She smiled looking around as they drove. She liked this. It was fun to ride in the back of a truck like this. She'd never done it before. She looked across at Hosteen, who was watching her, smiling. She smiled back, then remembered what she was thinking yesterday: whatever this was, it was probably about her grandparents. People were not interested in just her; it was almost always about them.

After a while, Mary could see something on the horizon. It looked like a military base, but there was an enormous cone-shaped structure upon a platform, aimed up at the sky, attached to it was another structure that looked like a farm silo.

After the trucks stopped, they all got out and began walking over towards it. Mary watched it grow taller as they walked closer.

"So," Hosteen said, as he walked beside her. "Here's something about me: I wanted to be an astronaut when I was growing up."

She looked over at him. "You did?"

"Yeah. Imagine that: a Navajo in space," he laughed. "My dad didn't really discourage me, but he also didn't encourage me, either. Even after the transition happened, and we didn't really know how far it would go, he still tried to steer me towards something more realistic." He shrugged and smiled at her. "I guess a Navajo as president was more realistic."

There were cranes around the structure carefully building scaffolding around it. They stood there for a minute to watch, then Mary realized she was standing there alone with him. Where had all those other people gone? She felt her heart start to pound.

"As soon as Burns completes his budget and signs off, we'll start training and complete the design," Hosteen said.

"What's it for?" Mary asked.

"We're going to the moon," he smiled. "Then Mars. We're hoping to launch by 2054. I know that sounds too soon, but there's no Congress or Parliament stopping anything anymore."

He was right. The four of them decided everything for the Union, the only caveat being that the four of them had to be in undisputed agreement before anything happened. If even one disagreed, nothing happened. But it worked. Already, they'd carried the Union into a new age of prosperity and had accomplished far more than the older establishments ever had.

"How long have you had this?" Hosteen asked her, touching the red snake tattoo on her forearm, just beside the bend of her arm.

"Oh," Mary put her hand over it for a second. She'd forgotten it was there. The sleeves of her uniform usually covered it.

"I got it when I was sixteen. It's a, um…it's a family thing."

"Your family sounds very interesting. Will you tell me about them?"

Mary sighed. Oh, where should she start? With her half-sibling parents? How about with her drunk step-mother and monster half-siblings, except Esther? Maybe she should begin with her treasonous Old Republican grandparents? But then Mary thought maybe she should mention her grandparents first. Test this out and see if she was right.

"Well," she began. "My grandparents were Old Republicans. My grandfather died a few years ago, but my grandmother is still living. She lives in the East. They were FBI agents."

"Really," he looked thoughtful for a minute. He was leading them inside one of the buildings on the base. "I remember a story my grandfather told me about some FBI agents."

They rode up an elevator to a lounge. There was a panoramic view of the base. Mary hadn't realized how large it was until they were up that high. In the distance, she could see the solar farm, the panels tilting as the sun began its western descent.

"He told me some FBI agents came to the res looking for something," he continued. "Something buried there in a train car or something like that."

"Did he say who they were?" Mary asked.

"No, just that it was a man and a woman. The man showed up first, then the woman came later, looking for him. The man almost died of exposure. He never told me any names. I don't know if he even knew them himself."

"I could ask my grandmother if she remembers anything like that."

"I guess, but it probably wasn't them. There were hundreds of FBI agents. They probably worked at one of the field offices here."

"What were they looking for?"

Hosteen looked at her, studying her face. He looked at her for so long like that, she could feel her face redden and she began to regret asking him that.

"I'll tell you another time," he said quietly, smiling at her.

There's going to be another time besides this one?

They rode back on the trucks as the sun was setting. Mary held her hair again, and she noticed Hosteen watching her, smiling. But his smile was different this time, more mysterious, secretive. He scooted next to her and carefully pulled her hand down from her hair.

"It's better if you just let it go. Let the wind run through it."

He held her gaze for a minute, her hand still in his, before he let go and they rode the rest of the way back in silence. Mary knew then that this was not about her grandparents. Mary knew then that this was not at all about anyone else but her. The thought of that simultaneously excited her and worried her.

* * *

When Mary walked back into the hotel, Gibson was sitting in the lobby waiting on her.

"I told you she would," he said to her as they walked into the elevator.

"How long have you been waiting?" Mary asked.

"Not that long. I expected you back later, to be honest."

She looked at him, confused. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

When they walked in, the SRP was on her phone. She set it down and told Gibson to leave. Mary sat down across from her, ready with all her questions about her grandmother.

"So," the SRP began. "Tell me what happened."

"What?"

"With Hosteen. Tell me what happened."

Mary looked at her puzzled. She was acting like they were best friends gossiping at brunch, not like a President to her Guard.

"I want to talk about what you wrote to my grandmother," Mary said to her.

"That doesn't matter."

"Yes it does! You upset her, and I want to know why."

The SRP looked at her for a minute, considering. "I'll tell you, but first I want to know what happened with Hosteen. Where did he take you?"

Mary didn't want to tell her. It seemed they both knew something that the other one wanted to know, and she wasn't really up for any sort of power struggle.

"Just to some base," Mary sighed. "In the Mojave."

"Oh, he took you there," she nodded. "That was nice of him."

Mary shrugged. "Nice of him?"

"Did he say he wanted to see you again?"

"Yes."

"Oh good, good! That's very good. I have to stay here longer anyway. Burns and Avenham are coming here before we all go to the UK, so that's plenty of time."

"Plenty of time for what?"

She ignored Mary's question, picking up her phone and tapping on it for a few seconds.

Mary was growing impatient and irritated. Why on earth did she care so much about Hosteen seeing her? And what did she say to her grandmother? And why was this all happening to her, right now, out of nowhere?

"You should go ahead and get a good night's sleep," the SRP said, setting her phone down.

"You said you were going to tell me."

"I will. Just not right now. Goodnight Mary."


	7. Chapter 7

_The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _5:00pm_

It seemed, over the next few days, that Mary saw more of Leonard than she ever had before. It seemed like no matter where she was standing or where he was standing, they were always in each other's line of sight. Even after Burns and Avenham arrived with their aides and Guard, Mary was always able to see him.

He didn't say much to her, but when he did, there was recognition and acknowledgement in his eyes. Mary secretly hoped he was thinking about that moment on the truck as much as she was. Because it had been a nice moment, hadn't it? But he probably wasn't. He had to think about running a country.

Mary thought it was all very odd, the timing of everything. When she stood in the corner with the rest of the Guard, people seemed to move out of the way at just the right time so Leonard would see her as he walked through. When the four of them sat together for the media, Mary found herself walking alongside him instead of Covarrubias when they went in and went out. All the other Guards and aides seemed to walk slower or faster so it would happen that way.

It felt purposeful. Scripted. But it had to be coincidental. It had to be just one of those things.

One day, Mary was standing with the North Guard while Burns and Covarrubias were talking. Mary watched Leonard leave the crowd he was standing in and walk over to her.

"I'm going back to the Mojave tomorrow," he said to her. "Do you think she'll mind if I borrow you for the day."

"Of course not," the SRP replied, walking up behind Mary. "I have other members of my Guard here. They can manage."

Mary turned to look at her, then at him. Something about this felt odd, suspicious. Like a trade was happening.

"Good," Leonard said. "I'll see you tomorrow." Then he walked off.

Mary looked over at the SRP, who was beaming at her. Mary was going to ask her what was going on, but Avenham was coming in with the East Guard, and causing a flurry of activity. He was the oldest of the four, and kind of eccentric. He wore weird, colorful hats, and it was rumored he had pet monkeys he let roam free all over his house. He like to dye his bears' fur with polka dots and stripes. He was incredibly strange, but citizens seemed to like that aspect of him.

There were moderates and liberals in his Council trying to get him out of office. Recently, the media had published a story about his secret family in Australia. It was scandalous because the Presidents were not supposed to have families. It used to be suspicious if a President didn't have a family, but now it was frowned upon. Single Presidents were less vulnerable to blackmail and corruption, and they could be more dedicated to their country.

Seeing Avenham made Mary remember her grandmother.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, ma'am?" Mary asked the SRP.

The SRP reluctantly walked with Mary into a corner of the room.

"Will you talk to Avenham for me?" Mary asked. "Will you see if he'll give my grandmother a pardon?"

"A pardon?"

"Yes. She's a prisoner over there. She has no privacy at all, and they track everything she does."

"Do they?" The SRP looked over at Avenham. He was wearing an oversized cowboy hat in neon yellow.

"Will you ask him?"

"What do they track exactly?"

"Everything. She can't even sneeze without getting permission first."

The SRP looked at Mary, then back at Avenham again. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

They went back to the Mojave later in the afternoon this time. Mary tried again not to look too nice, but Gibson made another comment, nonetheless. Mary had also tried to talk to her grandmother earlier in the day. She'd sent her a text, but still hadn't received a response. Mary figured if the SRP wouldn't tell her, then maybe she could find out from her grandmother how they'd known each other. But her grandmother probably wouldn't tell her either, and Mary was unable to see or hear her thoughts like she could her parents and half-siblings. She wasn't sure what made her grandmother so different from the rest of her family, but it's not like anyone ever explained anything to her.

Leonard walked her around the base. They'd ended up alone again, and he seemed to be waiting for the sun to set. Mary felt less nervous this time. He wasn't as intimidating like this, dressed casually, his hair bound in a loose braid. He had metal rings down the sides of each ear. She'd never noticed them before, and she guessed he must take them out when he's performing his official duties.

They walked around in silence for a time, then he looked at her, stopping. "You're probably confused about all this, about why I keep asking you to come here."

"Yes. A little," Mary admitted. It was more than a little, though. She was happy to spend time with him, but she didn't know why it was her he chose to spend time with. If this wasn't about her grandparents, then what was it about? There had to be a reason.

"Well," he began, taking a deep breath. "I didn't really know my mother. I don't really remember her at all, actually. My dad said she was mixed. Some Lenape and Choctaw as well as white. He met her at a bar in the South somewhere. He said she had blue eyes that glowed. That's what caught his attention. They stayed together for a while, then I was born. He brought us all back here, back to the res, but she couldn't take care of me. She had addictions, drugs and alcohol, and just sort of disappeared. My dad and grandparents, his parents, raised me."

He paused, bending down to pick up a piece of metal that had fallen from somewhere.

"My dad and grandfather sat me down one day and told me that we were different than other people. My grandfather, along with my great-grandfather, had things done to them. They were experimented on."

Mary was starting to get nervous again, her hands shaking. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, those FBI agents? After they left, some other men came. They were not FBI. I don't know what they were, but they were government. They interrogated and bullied my grandfather, then took him away. He'd seen something he wasn't supposed to see. He'd helped that FBI agent find something. He said it was something that didn't belong here. He said they sewed his eyes and mouth shut, and did these tests on him. They almost killed him, but he escaped. When he came back, he said no one wanted to be anywhere near him. They said there was something in him, something evil. He tried to get it out. There were all these cleansing rituals done, but it didn't work. He said when he looked at his eyes in the mirror, this black liquid would move over them."

Mary felt like her heart was going to pound a hole in her chest.

"He left the res and met a Comanche woman. She had glowing eyes, he said, and he immediately fell in love with her. They had a lot of children together, lots of twins. Some of them died, though. They had like a rare blood disorder or something. Anyway, my father was one of them. He was actually a twin, but his twin died when they were born."

He stopped and looked into Mary's eyes, intently, piercing. "It was passed down. What was in my grandfather was passed down to my father, then to me."

Mary stood there looking at him, trembling.

He moved closer to her. "And it's in you, too. I knew it when I first saw you."

Mary didn't know what to say, all she could do was stand there, staring back at him wide-eyed.

"But it isn't just that. There are two kinds. My mother was one kind and my father is the other. And that's what you and I are: we are both kinds."

It all made sense, but it didn't. Two kinds. She knew what he was talking about, but she didn't want to believe what she'd quietly kept to herself all her life. She'd known her mother and father were different, but the same. They came from the same substance, only that substance manifested itself in them in different ways. They were not entirely human, and no one ever actually said that. It was always implied. Therefore, Mary could only conclude she was not entirely human either.

They stood there like that, staring at one another, for a long time. Until the sun had set and lights came on around the base.

"I wish you'd say something," Leonard said to her. He was beginning to look worried.

Mary looked around. They were alone out here. "How can you tell? Because I can't. How were you able to see it?"

"I think it's something in the eyes. Something you have to know to look for."

Mary looked into his eyes, but they didn't look any different to her than before. She thought she'd see the black oil, but she didn't.

He took her hand, leading her towards a white dome on a hill. She felt something pass between them when he touched her, an exchange. It was warm; it calmed her. It made her feel safe.

There was a telescope inside the dome. A hatch opened up on the outside, and the telescope stretched out and up towards the sky. He sat down behind it, and invited Mary to sit next to him. The seat barely fit the two of them, but Mary didn't mind being squished up against him like that. Something had changed between them. She felt like she would always need to be close to him like this.

"I built this," he said to her, smiling. "And I just wanted to show off."

"You built this yourself?" Mary asked looking around at all the gadgets and screens.

"Yeah. Well, I had some help, but I designed it. Ever since my grandfather and father told me, I've always been looking up. I went and got a telescope, a little one, when I was a kid. I wanted to find where I came from, because it's one of those out there. One of those stars."

"But which one?"

"Right. Which one?"

Mary sat there with him, staring up into the sky, trying to go through it all in her mind. They were the same; they were both kinds. Were there more of them? She wondered which kind each of her parents were, and her grandparents, because it had to be in them, too, didn't it? And was the SRP one kind or both? She didn't want to ask him though, because maybe he didn't know. She'd said they should keep that between them. She also wondered who those men were that came after the FBI agents. And was it possible, even slightly, that those FBI agents were her grandparents or at least knew her grandparents? She decided to ask her grandmother about it anyway.

He was looking at her again, watching her, but this time he was very close. So close she could feel his breath on her cheek. It made her nervous, but a good nervous. Was he really just like her?

"I like your eyes," he said quietly. "They glow. Like the starlight. That's what I first saw that day."

Mary wasn't sure what to say.

"I think I'll find a star and we'll name it after you. A star named Mary Scully. It just seems appropriate now, doesn't it?"

She smiled, and turned to look at him, then quickly turned away again. She knew what was coming. She could tell what he wanted to do, and it made her flustered. She'd kissed boys before, and girls, too. But this wasn't going to be like that. He wasn't an academy boy; he was the West Region President. And he was made of the same substance that she was. Suddenly, she forgot what to do. She forgot where to tilt her head and where to put her hands. She started to worry that she would do it wrong.

But when he gently turned her face towards his, pressed his lips to hers, she wasn't worried anymore. She was lost. She was lost in this moment, right now, and right here. The exchange between them when he held her hand earlier was amplified. It circulated between them, making Mary feel as if she'd just woken up. It warmed her, it consumed her. She could sense that it was doing the same to him. Was this part of it? Was this part of what made them different from everyone else?

She was in a daze, a fog, as they rode back. His arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Was this really happening? Was she in some kind of lucid dream? Was this a glitch in the matrix?

"I think this was supposed to happen," he said to her. "Exactly like this."

She didn't know how to respond, because she'd never really believed in all that, fate or whatever. But maybe it was real. Maybe all life was a chain reaction of events, colliding at some predestined point in the future, meant to be, meant to happen in just that way.

He kissed her again before she went back into the hotel. It was better this time, deeper, it confirmed something, it sealed something between them. She knew it was only going to get better. She didn't want it to end, and she would have stayed there with him like that and let the world just go on without them.

As she went back inside, into the elevator, and back to her room, the fog lifted, and she remembered again who she was. She remembered the SRP and her grandmother, and that the SRP would probably send for her. But she didn't want to tell her about this. She wanted to keep this private. It was none of her business, right? And besides, this might be all that happens. So, maybe she shouldn't tell anyone or hope too much, because people lost interest in her all the time. He might regret this tomorrow, and she would have to be ready for that. He was the WRP. It's not like he could marry one of the Guard. The Guard was banned from marriage and children until they were formally discharged. They were the Guard; it's all they were supposed to do. She nodded to herself, yes, this is all it would be, and that was okay. She'd have a nice story to tell her friends, about that time she kissed Leonard Hosteen, but no one would believe her probably. At least she knew now that she wasn't alone.

As she pulled out the card for her door, she heard someone come down the hall. It was Gibson. She rolled her eyes.

"Please tell her I'm very tired, and I'm going to bed," she said to him.

"Tired from what?" He was looking at her with that weird smile again.

"Goodnight," she said to him, closing her door and locking it.


	8. Chapter 8

_The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2032_

 _12:41pm_

Mary sat on her grandfather's lap. When she looked up, she could see the stubble on his chin and neck. When she reached up to touch it, it tickled him, and he looked down at her and crossed his eyes at her. She laughed.

"Are you making fun of me?" He asked her.

"Yes!" She replied, laughing.

She knew he'd been sent in here to distract her. Her mother and grandmother were sitting at the table nearby, talking quietly. Mary didn't have to hear it. She knew what they were talking about.

"She did this," her mother said softly, drawing X's over her eyes and mouth. "She said they had no eyes and they couldn't talk."

Her grandmother glanced over at her, and Mary looked back. Her grandmother leaned in towards her mother, whispering. "When does she see them?"

"At night," her mother replied. "She says she can hear them talking in her head, telling her to come with them, but she always tells them no."

"Here," her grandfather switched the channel to cartoons and set her on the floor, sitting behind her. She pretended to watch, to be engrossed in it, but she knew he was looking back at them, listening.

"Yeah," her grandmother said. "We've seen them before."

"What do they want with her? She's only a child."

"I don't know, but there are hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. We haven't seen one of them in years, though."

No one said anything for a minute, and Mary could feel they were all staring at her. But she did what they wanted her to do, and pretended the cartoon was entertaining.

"Where do they want to take her?" That was her grandfather, trying to whisper.

"Home," her mother replied. "They tell her they want to take her home."

Mary had seen them since she was about three or four. They always came to her at night, saying they wanted to take her home. She needed to come with them. Mary wasn't really afraid of them, but she didn't want to leave her mother, so she always told them she wouldn't come.

"Maybe you could spend a couple nights in her room," her grandmother suggested. "And put her in yours to see if they'll come back. Try to get a picture of them."

"I don't want to see them," her mother said, sadly. "I just want them to go away."

"Ask them where home is," her grandfather said softly. "Ask them where they want to take her."

"Mulder," her grandmother said sharply. "That's not the point. That's not the problem."

Mary always wondered why they called each other that – Mulder and Scully—and not their first names. She asked her mother once and her mother told her it was just something that they did.

"I'm afraid to leave her alone," her mother said, her voice was shaking. "I'm afraid to leave her at school."

"They won't come to her school," her grandmother replied. "They clearly only want to be seen by her."

"I wonder if we're being punished," her mother whispered. "William and me. Are we being punished?"

Mary felt the hostile silence grow around all of them; it was heavy and dark. It made the exaggerated sound effects in the cartoon seem louder and completely inappropriate.

"Has he ever seen them?" Her grandmother said finally.

"No. He's never mentioned it. I haven't seen them either."

When Mary and her mother left, they hugged both of them. Mary thought she might start crying. She liked coming here and she hated to leave them. It was probably because she'd lived here for the first three years of her life. This was home to her. She didn't like leaving her home.

As they drove, Mary's mother kept looking at her in the rearview mirror. Mary knew what she was going to ask. She could see it forming in her mind.

"Mary, would you like to sleep in my room tonight?"

Mary stared out the window, watching the guardrail spin by, making her dizzy.

"We can stay up late. Watch any movie you want. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," she replied.

Mary looked up into the rearview mirror at her mother's eyes. She was afraid. But Mary knew they wouldn't come tonight. They wouldn't show up when there was someone around to protect her.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _10:54pm_

They were getting ready to leave for the UK. The SRP was telling Mary they didn't know what to do about Avenham since the scandal broke. Plus, they couldn't have him showing up to meet the Royal Family and Prime Minister looking crazy in one of his hats. Someone said he'd brought a faux bearskin hat with him and dyed it in a rainbow of pastels. It made him look like a troll. They couldn't have him walking up there to greet them and insult them looking like that.

"I don't know. Maybe we'll leave a day early and not tell him," she was saying as she swiped through her phone. "Maybe we can have someone 'forget' his luggage. The East Council needs to come up with a better alternative, or he's just going to get voted back in again."

Mary sighed, shaking her head. Why did her grandmother have to live in the region with the lunatic?

"Did you talk to him?" Mary asked her.

She set her phone down. "Yes. He sent a request to his Council to write up a pardon for her, but there is a catch."

Mary held her breath.

"She won't be tracked anymore, and she won't have to give them a daily itinerary. But she'll have to agree to random searches, and she can't leave the borders of the East Region for the next two years. If she doesn't comply, the pardon is invalid. She won't have another chance for another one."

Mary bit her lip. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. It didn't seem like a fair trade off. She was still stuck there, and in place of having some of her privacy back, they were just doing to invade it randomly anyway by coming into her home. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to help.

"That doesn't seem like a pardon at all. Just switching from one type of invasion of privacy to another."

"It's Avenham's region. It's his rules. It's the best deal she's going to get."

Mary sighed again. At least she would have some good news for her the next time they talked; if she ever decided to respond to Mary's messages, that is. It upset her a little that her grandmother wasn't responding. She hoped her grandmother wasn't angry at her.

She started to ask about the letter again, but the SRP interrupted her.

"So, Hosteen had you out late last night, didn't he?"

"Yes, we got back kind of late. I told Gibson I was tired."

He wasn't in the room, but Mary was sure he was standing outside the door listening.

"So, what happened?"

Mary shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing really. He showed me a telescope that he built. A high-powered one on top of the hill."

The SRP stared at her, waiting.

"That was it," Mary said, crossing her arms in front of her.

The SRP stared at her for another minute or two, then picked up her phone again and tapped and swiped. Mary didn't know why she wanted to know these things, but they probably knew about each other. He probably knew what she was, and she knew what he was. They can tell those things somehow in a way that Mary can't. She still didn't want to say anything, just in case. And until the SRP explained anything, she wasn't going to fully cooperate. Especially not until the SRP explained her past relationship with her grandmother.

She turned off her phone, then came to sit beside Mary. In certain angles of light, her scars were imperceptible. It looked like nothing had ever happened to her. She was pretty.

"Have you ever thought of having your own family?"

"No."

Mary didn't want her own family. She was afraid of what her children would look like. They might have birth defects or mutations because of her parents. It could skip a generation. She'd spent many hours obsessively looking up children who were born out of incest. She didn't want to put someone through that. It was best if she stayed childless.

"Not at all?"

"Well, I can't anyway," Mary replied, touching the spot where the metal disk was in her throat. "They'll see if I get pregnant in my chart. I'll be dishonorably discharged and lose my retirement fund."

The metal disk had been replaced when she'd enlisted. At the academy it had been used to feed drugs into their bloodstream during their training, but it tracked hormone levels as well. The academy discouraged romantic relationships, and tried to counteract the unpredictable libido of teens by messing with their hormones. But it didn't work on everyone. When she was sixteen, two girls in her class became pregnant, and as soon as the paternity tests were done, both couples were sent home in disgrace. Being kicked out of the academy for such a thing would follow them around for the rest of their lives.

Now the disk still monitored her hormone levels, but also how much of which vitamins and minerals were in her blood, her stress level, how much sleep she got, and her menstrual cycle. All the doctor had to do was scan it, and all the information pulled up on a screen.

The SRP looked at her for a minute. "How long is your contract?"

"Ten years."

"Ten?!"

Mary hadn't hesitated at all when she signed it and stamped it with her handprint. At the time, she'd thought she couldn't expect anything better to come along in her life. She'd picked the longest term the Guard could choose.

"It was the best option for me at the time," Mary explained. "I didn't really have any other plans for my life."

"Let's see…you've served two and now you have eight left, right?"

"Right. Why?"

"He's going to want to see you again before we leave." She was mostly talking to herself. "Then again when we get back. I don't think there's a way he can come back earlier."

She seemed to be doing some kind of calculation in her head, tossing around ideas and theories.

"What's happening? Why do you want me to see him so badly?"

"It's not what _is_ happening. It's what _already_ happened. And he's the one that wants to see you so badly."

"I don't understand. At all."

She looked at Mary as if she should understand. "I'm trying to find ways for you to see each other without anyone finding out. I'm trying to protect you."

Mary looked at her, stunned, perplexed.

"Don't you want to be with him? He's made it very clear he wants to be with you."

Mary stared at her, hoping this conversation wasn't going where she thought it was going. Did Gibson see them last night? He must have told her.

"He's being a gentleman about it," the SRP said. "He wants you to be comfortable with him. And he wants you to have some feelings for him. He doesn't want to make you do something you don't want to do."

"A gentleman about what?" She could feel her face flushing already and no one had actually said the words yet.

"He told you, didn't he? He told you what he is, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're both the same. It's very rare. But the two of you are going to change this planet. Actually, what the two of you create is going to change this planet."

Now Mary's face was burning. She didn't have to look in a mirror to see how red it was.

The SRP gave her a patronizing smile. "You can't possibly be that innocent. What did you think this was all about?"

Mary shook her head, looking down at her hands. It was about her this whole time, after all, and not her grandparents. But it wasn't what she thought.

"You look disappointed."

"I can't do that. I don't want to do that."

"Why?"

"Well, this for one thing." She pointed to her throat.

"Maybe we can get it removed."

"And how will I get my access? And we have physicals every month. They're mandatory."

"We'll figure something out."

But there was another reason Mary didn't want to tell her and she definitely didn't want to tell him. She would have to, right? She would have to tell him what her parents were to each other. Maybe if she did, then they would leave her alone. But everyone would know. And the SRP would know she'd lied on her enlistment application. And she didn't want to bring more shame on her family than there already was. If Madison could keep her drunk mouth shut for all these years, then Mary could, too.

"I'm not doing it. I don't want any children."

The SRP sighed, exasperated, and sat back against the sofa. They were quiet for some time before she spoke again.

"You know, I don't know how they didn't foresee this. They had to have known that this would happen one day. Maybe they did. Maybe they knew what they were doing all along and that it might ultimately lead to someone like you."

Mary said nothing. She wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"They made it so your grandmother couldn't have children. But she did anyway. Your mother? She was supposed to die, but she didn't."

"You knew my mother, too?"

"I didn't know her. I knew of her. I knew what they'd created, and she lived anyway. She and your grandmother are the same kind. The kind that doesn't die. The kind that lives forever."

Mary glared at her. "You weren't in the FBI with her, were you?"

"No. Like I told you before, I trusted the wrong people. And I paid dearly for it."

"How did you know her then?"

"Your grandmother is never going to die," the SRP continued, ignoring her question. "She probably looks the same as she did fifty years ago, doesn't she? And don't you think," she sat up, looking Mary in the eye. "Don't you think she deserves to see that part of herself being passed on? Don't you think she deserves to see herself in her descendants?"

"Don't do that," Mary snapped.

"Because that is all she has now. Your grandfather is gone. She has nothing else but an empty future ahead of her. Shouldn't she get the satisfaction of seeing herself in you, in your children, in their children? Shouldn't she be able to see that what she went through wasn't for nothing?"

Mary felt tears stinging her eyes, her chin trembling. "That's not fair."

The SRP studied her face as tears dripped down her cheeks. "He's not going to make you do anything you don't want to do," she said, gently. "He cares for you, and he wants you to care about him, too. But he knows, and I know, and maybe your grandmother knows, too, that people, humans, are a dying breed. We're better than they are. We're the future, and they're the dinosaurs."

Mary looked away from her, disgusted. She had lots of cards to play, and Mary had none. She had lots of power, too. She was very skilled at this, and Mary wondered if she'd been this way with her grandparents in the past.

"I wish you would see it as a good thing," the SRP said, handing Mary a tissue. "I wish you would see this as a blessing and opportunity."

"Are you both kinds, too?" Mary asked her, wiping her face.

"No."

Mary waited for her to explain, but she didn't.

"I'm going to bed," Mary said, standing up.

She walked out of the room, and Gibson was standing there outside the door. He'd probably heard every word.

"Goodnight, Corp-," he started to say.

"Shut up!" She interrupted. "Just shut up!"

She stormed down to her room and slammed the door, the sound echoing down the hallway.


	9. Chapter 9

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2041_

 _2:59pm_

When they entered the practice area, they were immediately given noise canceling headphones. But not before Mary heard the loud pop of firearms discharging and the loud clanking of cables lowering targets into a space in the floor and replacing them with new targets. They'd been carrying fake pistols - the same size, shape, and weight of real ones - in holsters for the first part of the year. This was to get them used to having it on them constantly. At the beginning of the week, Mary was assigned her first firearm – a Taurus PT 738. It was small and lightweight, the perfect size for young cadets still in training. Up until this point, they'd used the pistols provided in the range; now they would each have their own to carry around with them all day, every day, and sleep with at night.

She held it in her hand as Dean Skinner instructed her to place her index finger to the side of the trigger until she was ready to fire.

"When you're holding it, always keep it to the side like that," he drilled. "And put your thumb under the chamber like this. It's semi-automatic and can give you a nasty gash when it pops out."

Mary looked around the range as he arranged her hand the correct way. They were inside a tower that used to drop animatronic characters down on the cables to scare people that were riding through. The cables were still in use but the rest of the place had been remodeled into a gun range. It was enormous. Through a crack in the ceiling Mary could see the targets lined up like candy in Pez dispensers. The targets were not animatronic.

In the first half of their firearms training they used flat, two-dimensional boards with a red bulls-eye projected onto them. But now they were using real targets: convicts sentenced to death. Mary watched them lower into the firing area on the cables. They were vertically strapped onto a board; their vocal chords had been surgically removed so they couldn't talk or scream. They got absolutely no last words whatsoever. They struggled against their restraints, trying desperately to talk. The letter P was tattooed on each of their arms.

"What does P mean?" Mary asked the boy sitting next to her.

"Pedophile."

Union Justice. Crimes against children was an automatic death sentence in the Union. Let the pedophiles and child rapists be killed by children. There were hundreds of them here waiting for their executions. The Union had busted a pedophile ring on the Dark Net recently. Some were sent up North, but most were sent to the South. The South was the worst region to be sent because the South also used them to practice for combat. That and they were not protected from the pythons.

When they were lowered and moved around on the track to line up with the next cadet, a screen appeared stating their prisoner number, presidential seal and signature of their death warrant, and a list of their crimes to show them all how deserving they were of this fate. And they were all completely aware of what was happening. Despite the fact that they had no voices, they tried to scream anyway as they were riddled with bullets until they were dead. Every so often, a sprinkler was activated to wash away blood spatter. Absolutely no one there had any sympathy for them, including Mary. It was probably because they were all numbed from the drugs coursing through them via the tiny metal disks in their throats. It was a similar chemical composition to the ones in the brains of sociopaths.

Dean Skinner stood beside her as she waited her turn.

"How are your grandparents?" He asked.

"They're doing well, I guess." But she didn't really know that. She hadn't seen or spoken to them in a long time. No one ever told her anything.

"You're going to have to provide another blood sample at the end of the term," he whispered to her. "But make sure you come see me first. I don't have the schedule."

"Yes, sir."

He'd been kind of like her guardian since she'd enrolled. He'd falsified her initial enrollment application, switching blood and hair samples, and told her not to mention her father on any paperwork or talk about him to anyone. That was easy for her to do. She didn't want to talk about him at all.

"Doggett!"

Mary turned to look at the boy Dean Skinner was yelling at. He had green eyes and dark hair. He was a little older than Mary; probably fifteen or sixteen.

"Aim for the eyes!"

"I'm trying!" He yelled.

Dean Skinner went over to him to help with his aim. His target had been shot in the shoulder and leg. He was bleeding profusely, the color draining from his face. The days of humane executions were over.

"Aim for the eyes, Doggett. Finish him off."

Doggett. Mary had heard that name before. She stared at the boy for a minute. She tossed the name around in her head, trying to remember. Where had she heard that before? Dean Skinner had been particularly attentive to him as well.

"Alright, Scully," the sergeant called to her. "You're up."

Mary approached the barrier as a new target was lowered. It was a woman. Mary read the screen. She'd been abusing her children for years and exchanging obscene pictures of them on the Dark Net. She was an alcoholic, too. This was going to be easy.

"Now," the sergeant told her. "Aim for the eyes. Always aim for right in between."

She guided Mary's hands as she held the pistol. The woman was crying, shaking her head. Mary held the pistol carefully, looking at the woman. An abusive alcoholic. The rage was like a fire inside her.

"If you miss, just try again. She's not going anywhere."

But Mary was determined not to miss. She stared at the woman until blood was leaking out of her ears and nose. Mary was squeezing her insides, killing her even before she fired the first shot. It was the rage inside her; she almost couldn't help it.

When she fired the first shot, it immediately lodged into center of the woman's forehead. She slumped, blood trickling down her face, dead.

The room was quiet as everyone stared at her.

"Holy shit," the boy named Doggett said.

Mary looked around. Why were they all staring at her? She'd done it correctly. She heard the loud steps of combat boots coming down the hall. Three men appeared.

"Where's Cadet Scully?" One shouted over the noise.

Dean Skinner walked over to them. "What's this all about?"

"We need a word with Cadet Scully."

Mary just stood there. Was she in trouble? She'd done it correctly. Had they seen what happened before?

Dean Skinner took her arm and they followed the men out of the tower, the sun so bright it made tears come out of her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked them.

"You're grandfather has passed away," one of them said.

Mary shook her head, trying to shake the words out of her ears.

"Her grandfather?" Dean Skinner asked them.

"Yes," another man replied. "Your mother is on her way down."

"No," Mary insisted. "You must be mistaken."

He couldn't die, right? They were immortal. Weren't they? That's what she'd been told. Or rather that's what she had heard.

One of the men pulled out his phone. "Fox Mulder, your adoptive grandfather. He died yesterday. A stroke."

She'd had to say he'd adopted her mother so there was no link to her father, but she didn't like them saying it like that. Mary shook her head. "No."

Yesterday? What was she doing yesterday? There was no way he was dead. They weren't supposed to die. She would have known. She would have felt it.

Dean Skinner took the man's phone and looked at it, then looked at Mary, sympathy in his eyes. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Mary."

Mary suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. Like an elephant was sitting on her chest. She stumbled forwards, dropping her gun.

 _Are you going to make fun of me?_

Dean Skinner grabbed her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"He can't die," she insisted.

 _Take care of yourself, Mary._

"Mary," he shook her shoulders.

"I can't breathe!"

They stared at her as she sank down to her knees.

"Get a medic!" Someone shouted.

Mary fell down to her hands and knees. It hurt to breathe. Too much effort. She was gasping, clawing at the air for oxygen. They were wrong. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

She was passed out long before the medical team came, strapping her onto a stretcher, putting an oxygen mask over her face. The dark tunnel closing over her vision, a cold wind coming through her as the sun burned her skin.

* * *

 _The United Kingdom_

 _London, England_

 _2049_

 _4:29pm_

Gibson tried to hide the yawn, but she saw it anyway.

"You're going to have to wake up," the SRP said. "We still have dinner to get through."

"I know. I'm still on West Region time."

They exited the elevator, and made their way into the ballroom. British and NAU media was setting up in the corner to get pictures of the four of them. They were going to stage some kind of conversation. The four of them together always caused a scene no matter where they were. There were already dozens of photographs and video clips of their official greeting of the Royal Family circulating all over social media. People liked to make memes of them, and one in particular was already popping up all over the world. At least no one had gotten a picture of Burns ripping Avenham's hat off his head. And the little game of tug-of-war that happened afterwards before Hosteen intervened. Burns and Avenham really didn't get along, and especially when no one was watching.

Gibson pulled the images up on his phone. "It's got like a million shares in just a few hours."

The SRP took his phone to look at it. There was Hosteen, his face stern, cutting his eyes to the side. She was right beside him, frowning, but it was hard to see the rest of her face from the sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat. It looked like Burns was rolling his eyes, but when she zoomed in she saw he was actually looking down at his feet, scowling. The King looked annoyed, his lips pursed, but the Queen was smiling politely as always. In between, walking behind them all, was Avenham, smiling like an idiot, a hat with an oversized pinwheel on his head, patterned with Union Jack.

"Oh, God."

The caption read: When you're at your family reunion, and _that_ Uncle shows up.

In spite of herself, the SRP laughed. "It is kind of funny." She handed Gibson his phone. "I guess it could have been worse."

"I guess so."

He looked over at Hosteen, then at her. He really wanted to ask, but he had to be careful about it.

"So," he cleared his throat. "Are you really going to make her do it?"

She glared at him for a second. "I'm not _making_ her do anything. Here, take this." She shoved her phone at him so she could remove her gloves. Her hands were nearly back to the way they used to be. Keeping the sun off them helped. "But she will do it. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just look at him." She gestured to Hosteen.

Gibson didn't look. He didn't like thinking about Mary with him. And he didn't like thinking about what The Plan was. The Covarrubias version was to have Mary and Hosteen spend the next eight years having child after child only to have them taken away. They would be sent all over the Union to live with people specially trained for this scenario. Their children would be brought up, trained, and educated in special schools that would strengthen their abilities and let them communicate with other children like them. These people had been waiting on this for decades and now it was finally happening. Gibson knew from hearing her thoughts that Mary and Hosteen might be allowed to keep one or two children to keep them compliant, but this wasn't a romance novel. Mary and Hosteen were vessels for the future.

Gibson couldn't hear Hosteen's thoughts as easily. He wasn't sure if it was because of what Hosteen is or if he kept his thoughts in a constant scrambled up cloud to prevent people like Gibson from invading them. But Gibson knew that Hosteen's intentions were more noble; he wanted to marry her. He genuinely cared about Mary, but Gibson wasn't sure if he knew what was going to happen to their children. He seemed to think they would be able to do all of this without anyone finding out.

"Let's just say," Gibson said. "That she doesn't do it. What then?"

"It's out of the question. She'll do it."

"Ma'am," one of photographers was calling to her. "If you'll come sit over here."

As she walked over, Gibson thought about the possibility of Mary not cooperating. Because he knew she didn't really want to; her thoughts were loud to him. Loud and abrasive. He could hear them at night as he tried to sleep. He knew that she thought he was a creep, but it made him smile, nonetheless. At least she was thinking something about him. And he knew all about her parents. Not just from hearing her thoughts, but he'd known about them for years. Ever since he'd seen William over twenty years ago.

Gibson called her Marita back then. She wasn't "ma'am" yet. Or the SRP. Or President Covarrubias. She was Marita, and she had saved him. He'd nearly betrayed her, but she'd saved him and he hadn't left her side since. They'd taken refuge in an Amish community, where some Old Republicans had gone to hide when the transition started. Not everyone was able to make it out of the country on time.

Marita had nearly lost her leg to gangrene, but a surgeon in the Caribbean had saved it. Gibson pushed her around in a wheelchair on the farm. He helped her walk around when she felt like it, but she mostly stayed in her chair. She wore a large bonnet to hide her scarred up face. The family that took them in tried to help with her scars, applying homemade treatments and lots of prayer. It helped a little, but she didn't like to be around anyone except him. He'd wheel her down the road past other farms, past horses and buggies, and large black Cadillacs with no radio.

The Amish were flourishing under the new establishment. They'd been forced to replace half their crops with cannabis. But it had made most of them tremendously wealthy. Amish Weed was sold all over the world. Some had given up horses and buggies for vehicles, with absolutely no amenities, of course. They still stuck to most of their values. Gibson thought it was jarring sometimes to wheel Marita past giant stalks of marijuana and see bearded men in suspenders tending to it. It was bizarre.

But he got used to it, and it was during one of those trips that he first saw William. He was pushing Marita around the side of a wooden fence when he saw Fox Mulder standing with a group of men. He immediately pulled them back behind the fence.

"What?" She asked him, looking up, her face half hidden by her bonnet.

"I think…I think I just saw Agent Mulder."

"Are you sure? Wheel me around. Let me see."

"Wait." He peered around the fence again and saw that it wasn't Mulder. But the young man certainly looked like him. It was uncanny.

"No, that's not him." Gibson said. "But he looks a lot like him."

"Let me see."

"Hold on."

Gibson quieted his mind and tried to listen for the young man. His abilities were not as strong as they used to be. Perhaps it had been the tests and surgeries done to him; he wasn't really sure, but he had to listen extra hard now. After a while, he could hear the young man's thoughts. They were scrambled and hazy, but he could hear them.

"It's William," Gibson turned to look at her. "That's Agent Scully's and Agent Mulder's son."

"They didn't have any children."

"Yes, they did. And that's him."

"Let me see."

Gibson pushed her so she could peer around the side of the fence.

"Oh, my God. He looks exactly like them!"

He had the profile of his father, but his eyes were his mother's – as blue as a cloudless sky. He was talking quietly to one of the elders; his voice was smooth and deep. He couldn't have been more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

Gibson listened some more to find out why he was here, but William's thoughts were a tangled web. Gibson pulled at each one, trying to follow it until he heard the name Emily. And then Mary. But there was something wrong. He'd done something wrong. There was something dark and shameful around those names.

"Emily," Gibson whispered to Marita. "What was the name of that little girl? Agent Scully's daughter. Was it Emily?"

A shadow fell over her face and she looked down at her hands. "Yes."

"She…didn't really die, did she?"

"No."

Gibson remembered hearing that inside Scully's head when he'd first met her. The pain over that girl haunted her, but he'd never mentioned it to her. That woman's head had been filled with a constant stream of pain and worry, and thoughts of Emily echoed in her from time to time.

Gibson was starting to feel sick as he untangled William's thoughts, putting together a picture, a story that he wished he didn't know. It couldn't possibly be true, and he hoped that he wasn't really hearing it.

"What do you hear? Why is he here?"

"He found them. He found his parents."

"What do you mean?"

"Scully gave him up for adoption, but he found them."

"How in the hell were they able to have a child in the first place? It's impossible."

"Apparently it isn't."

"So, they didn't make it out, did they? And they're still alive somewhere."

"Yeah."

"Is that why he's here? Are they here, too?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Gibson went behind her chair and wheeled her away. If he could do something for Mulder and Scully, then he would keep their son's secrets.

"He's here for redemption." He told her as he quickly wheeled her back down the road.

Gibson thought about that day as he watched the four pose for the media. They'd separated Burns and Avenham by putting Covarrubias and Hosteen between them. They let Avenham wear a top hat with a peacock feather stuck in it. Burns' fists were clenched the whole time. Gibson was waiting for him to come up out of his chair and punch Avenham in the nose.

Gibson thought Mary had probably only been about one or two back then, but here she was now, all grown up. He wasn't sure what he'd expected her to look like, but she wasn't deformed or anything. The only abnormal thing about her was her eyes. They glowed as if they were backlit by blue flames. He thought she was beautiful. He thought about her a lot, and he didn't want to. He especially didn't want to think about her with Leonard Hosteen. It made him feel something he'd never really felt much before: envy.

The SRP came back over afterwards, glaring at him.

"I'm _not_ making her," she whispered.

"Were you thinking about that the whole time?"

"Yes. You're making it sound like I'm being cruel, but I'm not."

"I never said you were being cruel."

"But you're thinking it."

"Actually, I was thinking about how we might be able to get around that disk."

"How?" She took out her phone and checked her messages.

"Well, I think we should find a medical professional that will lie about her exams. The Guard doesn't get to see their charts; just the reports from the doctor. We'll need someone that would know how to do it, and maybe someone that has a vested interest in her."

"Who?" She put her phone away and looked up at him.

"Dana Scully is a doctor."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"Why?"

"That woman will never, ever do anything for me or with me or to help anything having to do with me. She hates me."

"She shouldn't."

"But she does. And besides, Mary's family can't know about this. Too much liability."

"How on earth are you so confident that we can pull this off and still hide it?"

"I'm not. But I'm an optimist. You should be, too."

When they got outside, Gibson opened his umbrella to shield her from the drizzle as they made their way to the car. It was cramped when they got inside. There were only two Guards there to accompany the four of them because the NAU Guard made the Brits nervous. They weren't allowed to carry their weapons with them to Buckingham Palace. The Guard member sitting with them as they drove was a West Region Guard, Simon Doggett. He was tall and bulky, his green eyes flashed with quiet anger as if someone had just cut him off in traffic. Gibson got the impression he always looked like that. No wonder the Brits didn't like them around.

"I think you should at least consider what would happen if she doesn't do it," Gibson whispered to her, but there was no way to have a private conversation like this.

"I'll consider it." She sighed, then tilted her head one way, then the other as she thought about it. "Okay. I have considered that will not happen and she will cooperate. Happy?"

Gibson shook his head, looking out the window as they rode the rest of the way to Buckingham Palace in silence.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _9:20pm_

"Oh, my God!" Dominique shouted as she scrolled through her phone.

"What?" Mary asked as she came out of the shower, towel drying her hair.

"Did you see this?" Dominique held up the meme for Mary to see. "Isn't that hilarious?"

"Oh," Mary smiled faintly. "Yeah."

Dominique laughed again as she zoomed in. Mary looked at Leonard. Even when he was irritated he was attractive. She felt faint butterflies in her stomach as she looked at him, then they sank when she thought about what was going to happen when he got back.

What was wrong with her? Shouldn't she be happy about this? At least a little.

She'd seen him before they left. She'd gone out on to the beach to wait for him, because she wanted to enjoy it before she went back. She wasn't cleared for foreign travel, so she couldn't go to the UK with them.

She took off her shoes and dug her toes into the sand. It was what sand was supposed to look like. No moldy green patches or bright orange splotches. And it smelled wonderful. The South coast smelled of rotting marine life that washed up on the beaches constantly. The Guard had to wear gas masks when they went out there periodically to clean it up. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, vowing to come live here one day, bringing her mother and grandmother. They would like this, too. She rolled up the cuffs of her jeans, and stood in the tide. Clear, clean water spilled over her feet as it rushed in and pulled back. Why couldn't she just stay here?

She didn't know he was there until he was right beside her. When she saw him, it startled her.

"Hi," he smiled at her.

"Hi," she smiled back, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Enjoying the West coast?"

"Yeah. I wish it was like this back home."

He walked over to her and took both her hands. "Do you really like it there?"

She shrugged. "Well, all my friends are there. It's not always that bad. And we're always needed somewhere."

He nodded, then stared down at her, searching her eyes. It was too intense, it made her look away.

"She told you?"

Mary nodded, looking back down at the tide on her feet.

He sighed looking out at the ocean. "I can only imagine how she put it. She's in a hurry. I don't know why. It's not like there's a deadline." He looked back over at Mary. "But I'm not in a hurry."

She didn't know what to say. She liked being with him. She liked how his gaze made her feel, and isn't this how you're supposed to feel? But there was a problem here. A problem that had no solution.

He put his hand under her chin, titling her head up to look at him. "I wanted you to at least love me first."

Mary blushed again. "Oh."

"Don't you think it would be better that way? If we loved each other?"

"Yes."

He invited her to sit with him and they sat in the sand together, his arm around her.

"This isn't a Navajo legend," he said. "It's Cherokee. About the First Man and First Woman and the strawberries. Have you ever heard it before?"

Mary shook her head.

"It's something like: First Man and First Woman were happy together, but First Woman became upset with the First Man. They quarreled and she left him. First Man went to the Creator and asked the Creator to send her back. The Creator asked him if her soul was one with his. The First Man replied that their souls had been one since the beginning of time and would be until the end of time. After all, the Creator had made them for each other. The Creator was touched by his words, so the Creator found her walking away and placed plants at her feet to slow her down. He planted huckleberries, blackberries, gooseberries, and service berries. But the First Woman ignored them all and continued to walk on. Finally, the Creator put strawberries in front of her. The First Woman stopped to admire them and taste them and she soon forgot her anger. She picked some and turned to go back to the First Man, remembering how he loved her. But he was already running after her and his heart soared when he saw her returning. She gave him some of the strawberries and they returned to their home, and lived there happy until the end of time."

Mary looked over at him. He smiled at her.

"There's different variations. Oral tradition has that affect. It's really about the origin of strawberries. But I think it's also about how two people are meant to be together." He turned her face towards his, looking into her eyes. "So much that nature and creation will stop at nothing to bring them together. And how the Creator makes us perfectly so that we can fit with equal perfection with someone like us."

Mary tried to blink back the tears that were coming to her eyes. Did she really have to tell him? Maybe it wasn't that important.

"If we were ever apart, I would just ask the Creator to send you back. Every day. Until you and I were together and happy. Until the end of time."

Mary felt a few tears escape and run down her cheeks.

"I love you, Mary. I want to spend my whole life with you. That's all I want."

Then she saw it; what he saw in her and SRP saw in her, she could see it in his eyes finally. She felt like she was looking into the Universe in each one. It warmed her. The feeling emanating from him, coming around her, embracing her, taking her in. This is what it is; this is what it feels like to know.

He kissed her gently, but when he pulled away she pulled him back to kiss him again. She wanted to forget about everything else and just be here, right now, with him. She didn't have to tell him right now. She just wanted this moment and this feeling he gave her to last as long as possible. Because he was right: this was supposed to happen in just this way.

First Man and First Woman.


	10. Chapter 10

_The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2049_

 _1:05pm_

The train was beginning to slow as it approached the wall. Mary checked her phone again for any messages from her grandmother. She'd finally replied, telling Mary she was fine and that she was sorry she took so long to respond. When Mary asked to come see her before she headed to the North, her grandmother told her she was busy and maybe another time.

But Mary knew she wasn't busy.

Mary had a backlog of questions to ask her and she wanted to do it face to face. Or at least via video call. It hurt her feelings that she was being put off like this. She didn't want her grandmother to be angry with her, and clearly she was.

A screen flashed, an announcement in English then in Spanish, telling them to secure their weapons. No firearms allowed in the Center, not even for the Guard; except for special events and emergency drills. Mary pulled her pistol from its holster then her revolver from her bag and placed them in the receptacle, sealing it with her handprint. She wasn't here on Guard business anyway. She'd been meaning to come here for a long time, and she figured now was as good a time as any.

She would have to come through here anyway on her way into the North Region. And she'd used part of her annual leave so she'd have enough time. She was going to a clinic that specialized in genetic and chromosomal disorders. She'd spent hours on the Internet to find them, and they were NAU doctors. They would be able to tell from a few tests and a small procedure if any children she had would have any mutations or deformities, even mental disorders. It was best to have the father there, too, but that wasn't possible. She also knew they were going to learn other things about her that could prove dangerous for her and her family. But they were NAU-approved; the privacy policies for NAU clinics were iron-clad. All patient data had to be encrypted and scrubbed clean after a month at places like that. The NAU made sure no one was harvesting private information on citizens for a secret data farm like the Old Republic had done. Mary had heard about the DNA Archives. It was how her father found her mother and her grandparents.

Mary stayed on the train after it tunneled through the wall and through multiple stops before it finally slowed at the Old Republic Memorial. She got out and made her way towards the building shaped like a trapezoid, remembering it from the last time she'd been here. It had been years. The building itself, glassy and shiny, was only the tip of the iceberg. She was headed to the swirling hive of hallways and rooms underneath.

As she took the elevator down, her ears popped from the pressure change. She put on her cardigan as the temperature cooled. She also pulled the flowers from her bag. Stargazer Lilies. She didn't know what kinds of flowers her grandfather had liked, if he'd even liked them at all. She'd just grabbed them from the store quickly because she thought they were pretty. And Stargazer sounded like him; like something he would say.

When the elevator stopped and opened into the entrance, she saw the hallways to Canada and the United States on her left, and Mexico and the Caribbean Islands on her right. The names of each country was chiseled in bronze over the entrances, the flags hanging underneath. There were people coming out of the Canada section and Mexico section, the holographic tour guides thanking them for their visit.

"Thank you for visiting Canada!"

"Gracias por visitiar Mexico!"

Mary took a deep breath, and began walking down the United States hallway. A hologram of a peppy young man appeared in front of her.

"Hello, and welcome to the United States! Would you like a tour today?"

Mary swiped it away.

"Please enjoy your visit!" He said with a polite smile before dissolving.

As she walked, video and audio clips activated by motion came to life, discussing the history of the United States. She walked past Plymouth Rock, Jamestown, and the Revolutionary War. She walked past paintings and diaries from the War of 1812, the African Slave trade, and the Great Awakening. Video of Civil War reenactments popped out from the screens. Photographs of Henry Ford, Flannery O'Connor, and Booker T. Washington peered at her from behind glass cases. She made it all the way to the 1929 Stock Market Crash, before she realized she didn't really know where she was going.

She looked up at the holographic memorial guide that had been following her on the ceiling.

"Map, please."

"Where would you like to go today?" It asked her, projecting a map of the facility in front of her.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation."

The map twisted into a 3D model of the facility, zoomed into a section, highlighting the FBI room. It was right in between the CIA and NSA rooms.

"FBI, Subfloor 27. Please follow the lighted arrows to your destination." LCD arrows on the floor lit up to direct her path.

"Thank you."

The projection retracted back into the ceiling.

Mary frowned. Was it really that far down? She didn't remember it being this far. Hopefully, it was taking her to another elevator.

At the end of the hallway was a lineup of all the U.S. Presidents, including the very last administration right before the transition. Mary thought the last president looked like an idiot, and she'd heard and read he wasn't the brightest light that ever shined. Perhaps he and Avenham would be the best of friends now.

There was also a special display dedicated to those to who died during the transition. It was mostly doomsday preppers who thought the apocalypse had come at last. There was a slideshow of about eighty individuals who followed a cult leader into the Luray Caverns and committed suicide by taking arsenic and tying plastic bags over their heads. They'd also thought the end of times had come. It was a terrible thing, a dark memory at the beginning of the NAU. Some of them had only been in their teens.

Mary continued her walk through each level. She glanced into the Arts and Entertainment auditorium where a hologram of Michael Jackson was moonwalking across one stage. At another there was Ray Charles behind a piano, and yet another with Kurt Cobain screaming into a microphone. She saw a screen where Patsy Cline and Frank Sinatra had been performing earlier. The music of US composers played through speakers. She heard Gershwin, Duke Ellington, and Bernstein as she walked towards another elevator, guided by the arrows.

She wondered why the NAU had put so much money into building this. But she supposed people liked history, even if it was history they disagreed with. They could learn from it; how not to make those same mistakes again.

Her ears popped again and it seemed to get colder as she reached Subfloor 27. When she walked out, it was right in front of her: _Federal Bureau of Investigation_ in bronze letters, a picture of J. Edgar Hoover glared at her as she walked inside.

There were cases filled with badges and other types of ID. There was a paper file from the 1980s she could flip through if she put on special gloves. There was clothing and bullet proof vests with FBI written on them. There was even a special section dedicated to the FBI Academy. But what she was looking for was in a different chamber, kept dark until someone walked in. The lights came on as she entered and out from the walls they came, clicking along a track, compressed air hissing as they were pulled out row by row: dead federal agents, preserved in Resin.

Certainly not all of them had chosen this. Some were buried in the cemeteries above. Some had their last remains in urns. But her grandfather had chosen the Resin, and he was here, suspended like a prehistoric insect. Mary guessed the temperature and pressure was to keep the Resin at the right viscosity; not too hard and not too soft. A Goldilocks compromise.

She walked along the rows until she found him, right in between Walter Skinner and John Doggett, the exact place she'd seen him years ago. He looked the same as he did the last time; like he was just sleeping and would wake up in a minute. She sat down on the bench in front of him, feeling uncomfortable, like she should say something. But now that she was here, she didn't know what to say or what to do but sit there.

The last time she'd come here was with Simon Doggett, when they were in their third year at the academy. He'd sat here next to her, looking at his grandfather, trying to rub the tears out of his eyes.

"He looks peaceful," Mary had reassured him.

"This is first time I've seen him like this," Simon told her, rubbing his eyes.

"You didn't come when he died?"

"No. I saw my grandmother when she came out. She was hysterical. I couldn't do it. And I was little anyway. My parents wouldn't have let me come in here."

Mary had looked at her grandfather and his, their faces quiet and peaceful, as if they were meditating. She and Simon had discovered their connection in their second year and came here during a holiday weekend. Mary didn't know he hadn't been in here before.

"This is the first time I've seen my grandfather, too."

"Really?" He wiped away more tears.

"My mother didn't want me to see him. She was afraid it would upset me, but I wanted to." She looked back over at them again. "I guess I was expecting them to look different. But…they don't look like they were in any pain. It's like they're sleeping."

Simon rubbed his face again and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," she reached for his hand, and he squeezed it.

"I think I'm the one that killed him," he said.

"What? Why?"

Simon told her that he'd had a kidney disease when he was younger. His grandfather had given him one of his kidneys so he would live. His grandfather had died about a year later. He'd been told it was a heart attack, but he was afraid it had something to do with the surgery. He thought maybe his father and grandmother had told him it was a heart attack so he wouldn't be so upset. But he still felt guilty, like it was his fault.

"It was probably a heart attack," Mary said. "It's very common and he was very old, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. Like in his seventies. But he'd always been very healthy up until he died. He ran marathons."

They sat there, quiet for a time, then Simon turned to her.

"Thank you for coming with me." He didn't smile much, but when he did lit up his green eyes like sparkling emeralds.

"Of course."

Then he'd hugged her, but when they pulled away there was pause, a charged moment between them. They quickly turned away then, embarrassed and shy.

As Mary sat here now, she tried to keep her mind from wandering to what had happened after that. It wasn't a bad memory, but they were young, and had been caught up in something foolish. Mary was still grateful no one had ever found out. She'd lost contact with him after graduation. She'd looked on the Guard's social media sites, but couldn't find him. She had no idea where he was now.

Mary stood up and went to take one of the complimentary vases off the shelf. There was moisture inside them to keep the flowers fresh. She put the lilies inside, but as she went to place them she saw some other flowers there. Violets. She looked at them for a moment then bent down to look for a card. They'd been put here recently, but there was nothing to indicate who they were from. Had her grandmother been here?

She looked back up at her grandfather, then put the lilies in front of him. She wished that she'd be able to do him what she'd done to dead insects and small animals in the past. She and Esther used to go out into the garden and kill bees and ladybugs, then hold them in their hands until they came back to life. It had been easy for Mary, but Esther had a harder time, and it seemed to exhaust her. She would need Esther here now, and probably her entire family for him. But that wasn't ever going to happen.

She lingered there for a few more minutes, then decided to leave, silently telling her grandfather that she missed him and she'd be back again soon. She retraced her steps out of there, out of the Old Republic Memorial, then waited for the correct train to ride out in so she could get her guns back.

Mary wasn't feeling what she thought she would feel after seeing him. He had been incredibly brave and loyal; he'd always done the right thing. She thought seeing him would help her to feel brave, too, and inspire her to do the right thing. Maybe she would get some clarity. But she felt dissatisfied; she'd never gotten to ask him why he'd showed up to her school dance all those years ago and why no one else knew about it. There were so many things she'd wanted to know about him, but no one ever told her. Now she would never know.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _10:52pm_

Esther was meeting her at the station and going with her to the clinic the next day. She was the only person Mary trusted besides her mother. And Esther had some time before she needed to board another flight. While Ephraim and Eve had gone off to college, Esther had refused and became a flight attendant for NAU Airways.

It was the only airline in the Union. The NAU shut down all the other ones, dismembered their planes, and built better ones. Now, citizens enjoyed a luxury flight to Australia at Mach 5 in just four hours.

Esther and Madison had fought about her choice for days. It ended when Madison screamed that Esther was going to turn into a junkie whore, and Esther screamed that Madison was a big, fat waste of oxygen. Madison struck her across the face, and Esther packed up her things and left. Ephraim and Eve found her at their aunt's house, brought her home, and made them apologize to each other. Mary was glad she wasn't there for that. As far as she knew, that was the first time Madison had ever hit any of them.

What a family they were.

As the train slowed, Mary saw her out of the windows, in her uniform, tapping away on her phone. She'd highlighted her rusty blonde hair with hot pink streaks. She'd pierced her nose and tongue, and probably a few other places, too. At least it was easy to tell her and Eve apart now.

"Mary!" She ran over to hug her.

They were only three years apart in age, but it felt like ten. Mary felt like an old biddy compared to her half-siblings. Especially Esther.

She chattered on and on about her job as she drove them to her apartment. It was a studio with dead houseplants all over it because she wasn't home enough to water them. And it was a mess all the time. After living with her mother's preference for order and cleanliness, Esther tossed everything on the floor and never washed her dishes. She'd already had two warnings from her landlord she'd be evicted if she didn't clean it up.

"I wish you'd told me you were going to see him," Esther said, as they pulled up to a stoplight. "I would've gone with you."

Mary shrugged. "I wanted to be alone."

Esther looked over at her, and Mary quickly shrouded her thoughts before Esther could hear them. She hated to do that, but she couldn't let her know about anything that was going on. Not right now.

"What did he look like?"

"Peaceful. Resting."

"I don't know if I really ever want to see him like that anyway. I don't want to remember him like that."

"I know. But that's all we have now."

"So, why are you going to the clinic? I thought you didn't want children."

"I just thought that, um…in case I changed my mind one day, I'd like to know if something would be wrong with them."

"Did you meet someone?"

Mary shook her head, but Esther could see her cheeks turning red.

"Okay, fine. You don't have to tell me."

Mary sighed. "It's complicated."

"Oh yeah? Is he hot?"

"Yes, actually," Mary laughed to herself. "Very much so."

"Well," Esther said, as they pulled into a parking space. "If you need any birth control or condoms, let me know."

Mary turned to look at her, shocked. "Esther!"

"What? I'm _nineteen_ , not _nine_! God, you sound like my mom." She got out and slammed her door.

Mary bristled at the insult. "Don't say that! I'm not like that."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. You're not."

They walked into the building and the hallway smelled like stale cigar smoke and old coffee.

"I just want to enjoy my life. I don't want to become some bloated old bitch like her."

When they went inside and she cut on the light, Mary saw a bra hanging from the ceiling fan. Her bed was shoved in one corner, unmade, and there were shriveled up spider plants hanging by the window. There were fruit flies buzzing all around the mess in her kitchen sink. On the floor was piles of clothes, papers, and empty take-out containers.

"I'm going to help you clean before I leave," Mary said, looking around, shaking her head.

"Nah. I'll do it later."

"But you'll get evicted."

"No, I have until next week. I'll get it done."

She plopped down on her bed, and rolled up the sleeve of her blouse to remove her bracelets. Mary saw the ouroboros tattoo on her forearm. They'd gotten both of theirs in the same place. Mary wasn't sure where Ephraim and Eve had gotten theirs. Seeing it made Mary think of their grandmother.

"Have you talked to grandmother recently?" Mary asked.

"Yeah," Esther said, removing her shoes. "Last week."

"Really?" Mary sank down on the other side of the bed, feeling depressed. She wasn't just being reclusive then; she was evading Mary and only Mary. Why, oh why, hadn't she read that letter first?

"Yeah, why?"

"Just wondering."

"Oh, before I forget." Esther opened the drawer of her night stand and pulled out a handful of condoms and tossed them at her.

"Oh, God," Mary said, picking one up with the tips of her fingers. "No. Just no." She shoved them back.

Esther gave her a sly look. "Is it Simon?"

"No, no. Absolutely not." She'd forgotten that Esther knew about that.

"Like I said, you don't have to tell me. And you can block it all you want. But you should at least take one. You don't want to get thrown out of the Guard."

Mary turned to look at her. "I'll take the couch."

"Okay, but if you feel something sticky, I think spilled some ice cream on it or something. The other day or like a month ago."

Later, Mary tried to sleep through the phlegmy coughs out in the hallway and the sound of Esther's central air unit cutting on so loud it made her jump every time. But she was also thinking about how her grandmother was ignoring her, but perfectly sociable with Esther. She was going to have to go see her, just show up unannounced, and talk to her. Apologize profusely for anything the SRP said to her. She wanted to know if her pardon had gone through, too. She didn't know how long it took. But she couldn't visit her anytime soon. They were coming back from the UK in a few days, and then…

She could still say no. And if the tests came back high-risk, then she would have to. She would go directly back home to the South and ask Lieutenant Skinner for a transfer to the Evacuation Unit in the islands. She would be so busy dealing with the preparations and the aftermath of hurricanes she wouldn't have to think about what she had lost. Because it would be a loss. A tremendous loss.

When would anyone love her like this again?

She wanted everything to be okay, because part of her was planning to not tell him if it was. But if they were really going to spend their lives together, she couldn't hide this forever. Because they literally had forever. If they were really both kinds, then they were one half of the immortal kind. This wasn't ever going to go away and she had to deal with it now. But until that moment came, she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could, because when would anyone love her like this again? She didn't know yet if she loved him or not, but she wanted to be with him. But she knew there was more to it than that.

Mary didn't pray much anymore, and when she did she usually did so in front of her crucifix, with her rosary, and in Spanish; the way her mother had taught her. But she prayed there on Esther's sticky couch, silently in her head. She prayed for courage and honesty. She prayed that God would bless her and Leonard with healthy children, and to please not punish them for the sins of her parents.


	11. Chapter 11

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2043_

 _8:06pm_

Mary wiped her eyes as she walked back to her dorm. She'd had a call with her mother and it hadn't gone well. They'd fought because Mary thought there was someone else in the room with her. Mary thought it was her father.

"There's no one else here, Mary!"

"Why do you keep looking over to the side like that?"

"I'm not," her mother said quietly, looking down.

Her father had found her mother in Honduras almost twenty years ago, but she still had quite an accent. Spanish had been her second first language. It was a nice story, at least at the beginning; the part where he walked into the hospital where she was working, and they instantly recognized each other. They'd been seeing each other in visions, in dreams, and in mirrors all their lives. But no one ever talked about what happened after that. That part of the story wasn't as nice.

"Can I talk to him?" Mary said, sitting forward. "Why doesn't he want to talk to me?"

Mary wanted to see him, but she also didn't. As much as he'd hurt her in the past, there were still times when she desperately wanted to talk to him. She wanted him to be proud of her like he was proud of the triplets.

Dean Skinner was standing behind her. Their calls were monitored, and he was always there to monitor hers.

"Mary, keep your voice down," he whispered, closing the door slightly.

Mary tried to invade her mother's thoughts, but she was pushing her out. Why did they keep trying to hide things from her still? She wasn't a child anymore. She was sixteen and halfway through military school.

"Papa," Mary said. "Can I please see you?"

She saw her mother look over to the side again, longer this time.

"I have go to, Mary," she said quietly.

"No wait!"

"I will talk to you in a few days."

She disconnected and the screen went black.

Mary sat there for a few seconds, staring at it. He _was_ there. Why didn't he ever want to see her or talk to her? She knew she was going to start crying, but she wanted to be alone. She didn't want Dean Skinner to see her crying.

She stood up, walked out of the room and out into the hall.

"Mary," Dean Skinner said.

She ignored him and kept walking.

"Cadet Scully!" He shouted.

She slowly turned around. "Yes, sir."

He was a tall man, over six feet, so he had to bend down slightly to look at her. "You need to be careful what you say," he said softly. "These calls are logged. I can erase this one, but I can't always do that. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, then turned to walk out without being dismissed.

The tears started coming as soon as she was out of the building and walking across the base. It was dark now and all the lights had turned on. There were a few other cadets walking back from the dining hall on the other side of the quad, lingering in the cool breeze before curfew. She thought she heard Simon's voice among them, but she was too upset to look.

He'd been right there, standing right there, and nothing to say to her. She was going to have to give up on ever having any kind of relationship with him. He was ashamed of her. And scared of her, too. She'd felt that when she'd been around him in the past. Mary was a reminder; she reminded him of a big mistake he'd made. But her mother had made the same mistake and loved her anyway. Why couldn't he love her, too?

When she turned the corner, she nearly tripped over the python laying over the walkway. She immediately stepped back, and pulled out her gun. It was probably about as long as a school bus and the width of a child's bed. It was one of the yellow ones with olive green spots. There was a bulge in its middle. She noticed it wasn't moving; it didn't notice her at all. She stepped over it carefully, and walked up to its head. It was alive, but barely. It must have eaten some of the poisonous bait they set out for them: goat and sheep carcasses soaked in liquid cyanide.

She put her gun back in the holster and stood there looking at it for a minute or two. The yellow ones weren't as aggressive as some of the other breeds. It was the red and orange ones that they had to be careful of. South Region pythons rivaled anacondas with their size. People came from all over the world to study them; they were a new breed of snakes all their own. It probably hadn't helped that most of them had bred in toxic swamps in earlier decades, contributing to their freakish size.

Mary knelt down and held her hand over it. The life inside it was leaving it, albeit slowly.

She looked around her, once, twice, then sat down next to it.

This was probably a stupid thing to do.

She put her hands on the smooth, scaly surface of its upper portion and concentrated. The life leaving it was still close enough to where she could pull it back without too much effort. Something had to always leave her in order to do this, and she wasn't sure how much it would take for something of this size and with this kind of brain capacity. The more complex the organism, the more energy it took.

She kept her hands there, pulling it back, until she felt it wiggle. She stood up quickly and stepped away. It made her dizzy; this had taken quite a bit more out of her than bugs or turtles had. It quickly started to slither away towards the marshy wetlands at the western part of the base.

But then it stopped.

Mary took another step back, reaching for her gun. This was a stupid thing to do. It was just going to eat more poisonous bait and die anyway, but not before killing someone's dog first. Or her.

It raised up its head and turned to look back at her, its forked tongue flicking. Mary slowly took her hand away as she realized it wasn't going to hurt her. It just wanted to see who had done this.

It stayed like that for a few minutes, staring back at her, then it lowered its head, and slithered away, its body a continuous S shape until it was out of the light.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _8:07am_

The SRP and Gibson were staring at her, secretive and beaming expressions on their faces, as they rode up to the WRP's home from the train station. They were being escorted by West Region Guard again. Mary could hear people outside in the streets cheering as they rode by.

"He made a stop in the North to talk to Burns about his project," the SRP said to her quietly, even though there was no one else in the car except the three of them and the driver, blocked out by a divider. "Burns reconciled his budget for the year, so he's trying to get his signature on it."

"I know," Mary replied tersely, as she looked out the window at the palm trees whipping by.

When she'd arrived and gotten to her room, she'd found a basket of strawberries waiting for her and note explaining he'd be coming back later. It made her giddy, her stomach doing flip flops, then she felt anxious that she'd have to wait longer to talk to him. She didn't want to draw it out any longer than it needed to be.

Her hands shook that morning as she pinned her badges on the green gabardine of her uniform, as she twisted back her hair, and as she tried to put on her lipstick. She wasn't very successful. Why couldn't Dominique be here right now? She was shaking because there was nothing to stop her now. Her tests had come back low-risk. But, they said, they couldn't guarantee that without testing the father, too.

The doctor had wiped her spectacles on her scrubs, looked Mary up and down, and then exchanged a glance with her assistant.

They knew what she was, but they couldn't say a damn thing about it. She hadn't mentioned her parents were half-siblings. They were going to see that anyway.

"You have every reason to expect healthy children," the doctor said with a frown. "Like any woman your age."

Those words were loaded. She'd really said: even though you are an inbred with suspiciously unidentifiable DNA, your kids will still be okay.

Mary was relieved, then terrified. Was she really going to do this? Because she could now. She could be the Mother of all Mothers. The power and prestige of that position drew her like a moth to a flame.

She hated the way the doctor and her assistant looked at her as she was leaving. She was the one with the power here. So, she asked them for her chart. They handed it to her on a chip that she put inside her phone. She stood there and watched them scrub her information from the system with a program developed by NAU privacy analysts.

"Thank you very much," Mary said to them. "I just don't think I'll be coming up here again. It's a shame, because it is a nice trip. I go right by the Courthouse."

Her insinuation wasn't lost on them. They looked at each other, then thanked her for her visit.

She felt better when she left. She couldn't imagine what she'd had to go through for her own information had this been the Old Republic.

She couldn't tell the SRP about it. And Mary wanted to keep making her think she could still say no. She wanted, at the very least, the illusion of being in control.

"We've been talking," the SRP continued quietly, nodding at Gibson.

Her quiet voice annoyed Mary. Especially since she didn't need to do it. And was she really talking about this with him? Why? It made her shudder inside.

"I can't stay here long. I'll have to leave in a few days, and you'll have to come with me. So, you and Hosteen are going to have to make the most of that time."

Mary turned away from her and continued looking out the window, irritated.

"But," she continued. "I've told my Council about Hawaii and the Aleutian Islands, and they want to meet with him and some of his Councilmembers. So, he'll be coming to the South for a bit, but I don't know when that will be or for how long. I'm sure you'll be pregnant by then anyway."

"Oh, just stop!" Mary hissed. "Just stop it! I never said I would do it."

"But you're here. You don't have to be here."

"You told me to be here!"

"I didn't tell you to. I asked you to; it was only a request."

"It's not just a _request_ and you know it isn't!"

The SRP studied her for a second. "What's wrong, Mary? What's gotten you so upset?"

Mary glared at her. At that moment she didn't care at all if she was the SRP. " _You_. You have me so upset! I never said I would do this and you're assuming things and talking to _him_ about all this!"

Gibson frowned.

"And I don't understand why you care so much about this! You're not one of us, so why do you care? And my grandmother is angry with me! She won't talk to me, and it's your fault!"

Mary hadn't realized she'd raised her voice until the last syllable came out. The SRP and Gibson stared at her, drawn back slightly.

"I didn't mean to yell," Mary said quietly, feeling bad, and then feeling bad that she was feeling bad at all. She deserved it. Didn't she?

"You're right," the SRP said after a minute, nodding. "I am assuming things when I shouldn't. This is life-changing for you, and I shouldn't have been so pushy. But I do have to talk to Gibson about this. He's part of this, too. He's helping me protect you and Hosteen. But you can trust him," she looked over at him, and he looked over at Mary. "He'll never betray your trust."

Gibson nodded. "You can always trust me."

Mary looked down at her hands. Fine. But he was still creepy.

"And I care," the SRP said, moving across the seat to sit next to her, gently tugging her arm so she would look at her. "About the future. I'm not like you and him, but a part of me is. I was made this way by the same people that experimented on your grandmother and created your mother. They intended for us to be powerless, but instead we are powerful. We can make it into something good now. Out of all those terrible things, something good came out of it, and that was you. You and your family can become part of the future, passed down, having millions trace their ancestry back to the three of you."

Mary thought she wouldn't be saying that if she knew the whole story. But still…millions tracing their origins to them? It was unreal.

"Hosteen came out of that, too. Because those men that tortured and experimented on his grandfather? The very same ones responsible for your grandmother, your mother, and me."

Mary was beginning to feel a strange tingling inside her, rippling through her.

"And we can continue with the good. The good that is in you and in him. You and him are the beginning. You and him are the new Adam and Eve."

"First Man and First Woman," Mary said, although she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"Yes. And he'd probably not want me to tell you this, but he's been waiting his whole life for you."

Mary looked at her questioningly.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes. His whole life. He told me he knew there was a woman out in this world just like him. And here you are. Perfect for each other in every way. Haven't you ever thought about that? All the connections, all the things that had to happen, in just the right way for you and him to see each other?"

Mary had thought about it after Leonard said something similar, but hearing it made it real. She'd heard this from someone else before, too, a long time ago. She wasn't sure what to make of it. What if she hadn't been holding the flag that evening? What if she hadn't been there at all? The assignment had come to her last minute. Another member of the Ceremonial Guard had been reassigned to the islands. What if he hadn't? But that's how it had happened, and now this was happening, unfolding, unraveling right in front of her.

"I'm sorry that I upset your grandmother," the SRP continued. "I'm sorry that she's angry with you. If you like, we can call her together later this evening. Do you know what time she goes to bed?"

Mary shook her head. That might be too much of a shock considering how she'd looked when she read the letter.

"No, I don't want to do that," then she turned to face the SRP, looking right in her glowing eyes. "But I want you to tell me what happened between you. Right now."

The SRP looked over at Gibson. He looked back, then down at his feet.

"Okay," she sat there for a minute, gathering her thoughts. "So. I was an informant of sorts. I tried to help your grandfather when he was in the FBI. Your grandmother didn't know about me for a while, but when she did, she was suspicious of me. She didn't trust me. She thought I was leading them in circles and putting them in danger. She also thought something happened between me and him and it never did. It was _never_ like that. He loved her and only her."

"If you weren't in the FBI, then who did you work for?"

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a minute. "Those men, the ones that experimented on her and created your mother. They were called the Syndicate."

Mary stared at her for a minute. She was starting to feel sick.

"But I wasn't with them when they did that to her," the SRP said quickly. "They recruited me later, and when I found out what they'd done, I decided to help your grandparents. I decided to help your grandfather with his work. It was a horrible thing they did. But I had to play both sides. It was the best way to maintain my position, and help them at the same time. I had to make sure the Syndicate trusted me, so I could help your grandparents."

"Who were they? What branch were they in?"

"They weren't in any branch. They operated outside of the government and within it at the same time. They were the puppet masters. They had all the power."

"But you knew about it? You knew who did that to my grandmother?"

"I did," she admitted. "She was right not to trust me back then. I got caught up in something, letting my heart speak over my head, thinking I had the upper hand and I didn't." She sighed heavily, a pained expression coming over her face. "I was having this affair with…um, well…it doesn't matter now. He's dead. But they tortured me for helping your grandparents. Did tests on me. And when I got away, I went after those men. Each and every one. But I couldn't get all of them. Your grandfather was put on trial, and I tried to help save him. But your grandmother believed I was there to hurt him."

"On trial for what?"

"Treason."

Mary sat back in her seat. The way they'd lived when he was alive and the way her grandmother lived now. It all made sense. But his treason had been against the old government, not this one. Why were they still monitored and tracked so much?

"They escaped, because he was going to get the death penalty. Your grandmother loved him, she was loyal to him, and he loved her. I'd never seen two people so dedicated to each other. But I wasn't able to escape. I was punished for doing that. I was nearly killed for helping them. I thought he'd come back to get me, but they were long gone. That's why she was so shocked probably. She thought they'd finally killed me. Those men were merciless if you betrayed them."

Mary tried to take it all in, sort through all that she'd just been told, as the car slowed in front of the WRP's home. She wasn't sure if the SRP was genuinely good or not. Or being entirely truthful. She'd helped her grandparents, but she'd also helped the very same people that had experimented on her grandmother and dumped her mother off on an island. How could she align herself with people who would do such terrible things?

Before they got out, the SRP turned towards her again. "But you can trust me, Mary. I'd never do anything to hurt your grandmother. Or anyone in her family. Including her granddaughter."

As they walked inside, Mary watched As He Stands greet her, and she was swallowed up in a crowd of aides and West Guard. Gibson followed along, then slowed to look back at Mary for a second. The smile on his face was different; a lot less creepy.

She was following along behind them, slowly, trying to process what she'd just been told when she heard her name.

"Mary?"

She froze.

She recognized that voice. A voice she'd once liked to hear. A voice that had once promised her things. A voice that had once told her those three words everyone wants to hear.

She turned around to see Simon Doggett walking up to her.

"Simon?" She hoped she didn't look too shocked.

He walked over to her cautiously, dressed in the West Region red that brought out his bright green eyes, a half-smile on his face.

They just stood there for a second or two. When he leaned in to hug her, she leaned in a couple beats too late, and they ended up grabbing each other's arms awkwardly before pulling away.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied. She turned to look behind her, Gibson was lingering there, staring at them, a strange look on his face.

"So," he said. "South Guard?"

"Yeah. You're in the West Guard? I didn't think you'd enlisted."

"Yeah, well…my grandmother moved in with my parents. I'm sending them some money every month to help out."

"So, she's okay?"

"Yeah. It wasn't cancer." He didn't look relieved. He looked ashamed.

The last time they'd talked, he was worried his grandmother had lung cancer. She'd been an on and off smoker for most of her life. Mary should have known she was fine. The space reserved for her next to John Doggett in the memorial had been empty. But that hadn't been all they'd talked about that last time. It was an unfinished conversation, and it was here between them now, still unresolved, four years later.

"You look well," Mary said, forcing herself to smile, realizing how cliché that sounded, but she couldn't process this right now. It was bad timing. Gibson was looking at them, and she needed to go.

"So do you."

She looked up at him, wondering if he was remembering what had transpired between them, too. But that was a silly thing to wonder; of course he was.

"Well," Mary said. "I should go in with the SRP." She turned to leave.

"Oh yeah, yeah," he said, stepping away. "I've got to go up North to meet Hosteen in a few hours, so I should prep for that."

It felt odd hearing Simon say Hosteen. She didn't like how it made her feel. She hoped her cheeks weren't red, but she knew they were.

Mary stepped back, and he did, too. She hoped she wouldn't do something stupid, like trip over her feet.

"We should catch up later," Simon called to her as she backed away, and turned to walk down the hall.

"Yeah. Okay," she called after him.

As soon as Mary was turned away from him, the fake smile fell from her face.

As if she didn't already have enough to fret over to keep her up tonight.

Simon Doggett. Of all the people on this earth, why did he have to be here right now, in the middle of all this? She didn't have time for this. This was really too much for one morning. Please God, she prayed, let him stay in the North. Let Leonard give him an assignment there, at least for the next few days.

Suddenly, she began to feel very tired. As if she could lay down in the middle of the hallway and fall right to sleep. But she wasn't going to be getting much sleep for the next few days anyway. She was going to be too busy creating the future.

* * *

Gibson watched her as she took off her jewelry. She didn't wear much, but what she did wear was very expensive.

"Help me unhook this thing," she pointed to the clasp of the medallion in the back.

Gibson unhooked it and carefully removed it to lock it up in the safe.

"God, that thing is heavy," she said. "Put these in there, too." She gave him her diamond earrings.

"I thought that was a nice speech you gave," Gibson said to her as he placed his palm on the safe to be scanned. It unlocked and he set her jewelry down inside it.

"Well, we have to convince our Councils that Hawaii and the Aleutian Islands will be very valuable assets. The first administrations shouldn't have sold Hawaii in the first place."

"No, not that speech," Gibson said as he stood behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "What you said to Mary."

"That wasn't a speech. That was the truth."

"But you didn't mean any of it. About the good or being powerful."

"Yes, I did!" She turned to look at him. "Stay out of my head."

But he was always in her head, even when she tried to block him out, and he was going to have to be very vigilant about what she was thinking now. He was going to have to convince her not to take Mary's and Hosteen's children away. At least not their first ones. Mary and Hosteen would be good parents. There was no need to send them all over the Union to be brought up by strangers. They could all stay in the West, and still do what they were born to do. Gibson was thinking about this because, as the SRP predicted, Mary was going to cooperate. It excited him to be a part of something like this, but it worried him, too. Especially after what he'd seen earlier that morning.

When Simon Doggett had approached Mary that morning, the thoughts in their heads had hit Gibson like a lightning bolt. Each one swarming at him like flies as he tried to sort through them and the story between them unfolded in his own mind.

Oh, God, he thought, as he watched them, wanting to grab Mary and pull her away from him.

He then realized who Simon Doggett was. Gibson had never met his grandparents, but he knew of them. He remembered hearing John Doggett in Agent Mulder's mind and how that name had been cloaked in forty layers of envy and distrust. Agent Mulder didn't like that man. He was insanely jealous of any man that came around Agent Scully, because he didn't want her to love or trust anyone else but him. But Gibson knew that wasn't going to happen. How could the two of them be so close yet feel such uncertainty about the other? The love between them was vast and deep. It had been so loud and clear to him.

But Mulder and Doggett must have become friends later. Otherwise, he wouldn't have memorialized himself next to him. It must have happened long after Gibson was gone.

But Simon and Mary were a problem. He started to feel angry when he listened to what Simon had done to her, and then alarmed when he heard the feelings Mary still had. They were not all good feelings, and they were very weak, but they were still there.

This was a problem.

He wasn't going to tell the SRP about it, though. She couldn't do what Mary, himself, and Hosteen could do. Although Mary and Hosteen could only hear the thoughts of their family members, she couldn't hear anyone's thoughts at all. She'd learned how to cover them, just to make Gibson mad, however. It was frustrating because that was an easier way to communicate, but at times like this he thanked the Divine that she did not have this ability. He was going to have to be more vigilant over the next few days. At least Simon was in the West Guard, and would not be coming home with them.

Gibson also knew that Mary had taken an extra, but very dangerous, step to ensure her children would be fine. Gibson wondered if the SRP had figured out who her father was, though. Maybe she was keeping that from him. If one thought about it long enough, it wouldn't be too difficult of a conclusion to make. He decided to try to draw it out of her.

"Have you ever wondered who Mary's father might be?" He asked her as she undid her hair, white-blonde waves tumbling around her shoulders.

"Of course I have." She turned to him again, her eyes flashing. "Didn't you _hear_ it?"

"No, I didn't hear that."

She went into the other room to change, talking to him through the closed door. "I don't think she has a father. I think Emily became pregnant the same way she came into this world: in a lab."

Okay, so she didn't know. That was good. Hearing Emily's name gave him another idea.

"You know, Emily is a doctor, too."

"Absolutely not. A million times no!" She flung open the door, tying her robe around her. "How could you even suggest that?"

"She wouldn't remember you."

"But she might."

A shadow always came over her face when she heard that name, sadness and regret filling her eyes. She'd been the one that took Emily to Barbados after they'd found her alive. The Syndicate hadn't asked her to do it; she'd volunteered so she could prove her loyalty. But it hurt her to this day that she'd left that little girl there. She'd left her in a church in Bridgetown where some Dominican nuns had found her, trying to make sure Emily wouldn't be found by a human trafficking ring or someone equally terrible. But she'd left her there, alone and drugged so Emily wouldn't be afraid or remember. She regretted it. He could still hear how she wished so much she'd taken Emily to Agent Scully instead, but she had to stay in the confidence of those men. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to help Mulder and Scully with anything later. She'd told Gibson all about it after they'd seen William that day. He thought she'd figured out why William was there and why he was thinking of Emily, but apparently she never did. Gibson guessed even minds like hers couldn't contemplate a possibility like that.

"Why are you bringing her up anyway? That's awfully mean." The SRP was saying, sitting down in front of her tablet to check her mail before she went to sleep.

"Because we have to find a doctor we can trust. Mary's mother and grandmother are both doctors. They wouldn't do anything to endanger her."

And he thought maybe Agent Scully and Emily could take charge of some of the children. They had a right to raise their own, and he knew they would do it.

"I said no," she snapped, then her tone changed. "But I told you Mary would do it, didn't I?" She gave him a triumphant smile.

"Yes, you did," he agreed.

It made him feel sad for a second or two. She was really going to be with Hosteen. Together. In _that_ way. The thought of her like that made his face burn and his heart pound. He really needed to stop thinking about her so much, but that was going to be impossible. He was absolutely certain he would be tasked with getting her and Hosteen alone, then safely getting Mary back to her room without anyone seeing. As He Stands would probably be involved in this, too. He was beginning to dread the next few days.

"First thing in the morning," she said to him. "Bring Mary here before Hosteen gets in. We do need to talk about how to get around that disk. _Without_ involving her mother or grandmother." She gave him another look. "Maybe As He Stands knows of someone."

"Why don't we just wait until Hosteen comes back and we can all discuss it?"

"I guess we could. But I want to have this all figured out before. They need all the time alone they can get. I don't know when he can come to the South just yet."

"Why don't you and him just change the laws?" Gibson asked her. He'd been wondering about that for a long time. They were the presidents, after all. "Can't you and him just pass a bill through the Councils that changes the Guard's policies?"

"Those policies are national. We'd need Burns and Avenham to agree, and we don't have time for that. Besides Burns and Avenham like the policies, and I do, too. It ensures loyalty, and we can send any of them into combat if we needed to without having to filter out the ones with families. This is just a special circumstance. We can get around it for this. We have to."

Gibson thought of all those people waiting around the Union, getting their homes ready for these hybrid super-children. Gibson didn't really know who they were or how the SRP had formed this task force so quickly. She was sequestering that part of the process in her mind, out of his reach, and it irritated him. But he knew they'd been waiting on this for sixty years. Colonization was finally happening. Not in the way it had originally been intended, but it was happening.

He thought someone should warn all the people here to enjoy this planet while it was still theirs. Because they were going to lose it and go extinct. This was a fact. In just a couple generations, Mary's and Hosteen's progeny, and indeed Mulder's and Scully's descendants, would be the majority; the rulers and the ruled.

Alpha and Omega.

The beginning and the end.


	12. Chapter 12

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2043_

 _9:22pm_

The boys were trying to cut through the ropes of the cover over the swimming pool. They'd cut through most of it, and they were on the last couple of lines.

Mary watched them, sipping her rum and Coke. There was more rum in it than Coke. Marisol had about ten small bottles of it that she said her cousin had snuck her during the last Family Weekend. It was making Mary light-headed, but in a nice way. She had a vague understanding of why Madison clung to her bottle of Chardonnay from the moment she opened her eyes until the triplets found her passed out somewhere in the house.

This was one of their free weekends. The academy thought that if they let them go wild a few weekends a year, they could get it all out of their system, and there'd be less misbehavior later. Teenagers would always be teenagers. So, they bought them food, sequestered them to one part of the base, bought them beer, and let them stay there the whole weekend. Not too much beer, of course, and they weren't completely unmonitored. There were cameras all over the base, so someone was watching them, making sure they didn't do anything stupid.

But the boys looked like they were getting ready to do something stupid.

Mary watched them from the group of girls she was sitting with. The girls were playing "Marry, Bang, Kill," and Mary was halfway paying attention. She was mostly paying attention to the boys, particularly Simon. When they took their shirts off to jump into the pool, Mary turned away, blushing. It felt wrong to see Simon without a shirt on, even though she kind of wanted to.

"Your turn, Mary," Dominique said to her.

"Oh," Mary replied. The rum made her feel less guarded. That was probably the point. That was probably why they were playing this game.

Mary turned back to the boys. "I guess I would marry Jamal, bang Simon, and kill Hector."

No one said anything, and when she turned to look at them they were all staring at her wide-eyed.

"I mean…I'd marry Simon." Her cheeks were flushing again. "Kill?"

"Um, we were talking about the sergeants," Jessica said.

"Oh my God!" Marisol exclaimed. "You'd bang Simon Doggett? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What? He's my friend."

"Yeah, but he's weird."

"What's so weird about him?"

"I don't know. He's kind of mean, too."

"He's only mean to sluts," Dominique said, winking at Mary.

"Shut up! Island trash!" Marisol kicked over Dominique's drink, and it spilled everywhere, making all of them stand up.

As Dominique and Marisol continued to fight, Mary looked back over at Simon.

"Hey! Hey, Mary," Jessica said, gesturing for her to come over.

Mary went over to her.

"So, my sister gave me these pills," Jessica whispered. "It's low-dose so this thing doesn't pick it up." She pointed to her throat. "And it doesn't interfere with what they give us. If you really want to go there with him, I can give you some."

Mary shook her head, her face flaming. "No, no. We're not like that. It's not like that."

"Yeah, but if you want it to be," she looked over at Simon, then at Mary, smiling suggestively. "Let me know."

"But how do you know they even work and it can't be detected?"

She nodded over to the group of boys. "Jamal and me. Three months and absolutely no one knew. They seriously work."

Mary looked back over at him, feeling embarrassed about this conversation and what she'd just revealed to her friends. But she was also intrigued. No one would know?

She had told Dominique about when she and Simon went to the memorial, but she hadn't told Dominique everything. She wanted to keep that a secret. For now.

Mary and Simon had gone into the Caribbean section, after the US, to visit Haiti, because Mary told Dominique she would. A hologram of Toussaint-Louverture had followed them around, telling them in French about the Revolution. But neither Mary nor Simon understood French, so they'd had to request subtitles. French wasn't taught in Union schools; only English, Spanish, and Arabic.

When they walked out of the trapezoid, they were still holding hands. He kept glancing nervously over at her, and she did the same. He stopped her a few feet away from the gate.

"I think we should take a picture in front of it, so we can remember when we came here. Do you want to?"

"Okay."

Simon held up his phone, pulling her to him, his head resting against hers. Mary had liked being close to him that way, but she had been disappointed with the image. Simon looked nice, but she always thought pictures made her look like she had a fivehead.

They continued to walk out, towards the trains, when he stopped her again, just by the fountain where sculptures of the first presidents stood in it, saluting the Great Seal of the NAU.

"Um…," he began, nervously looking back at the trapezoid.

"What? Did you forget something?"

Then he leaned in quickly and pressed his lips to hers. It lasted about five seconds, then he quickly walked off towards the trains, shoving his hands in his pockets, turning to look back at her, smiling bashfully.

Mary didn't know what to do. She was too stunned to move for a second. She brought her fingertips up to her lips. That was the first time she'd ever kissed a boy. And here she'd been thinking she never would because she was sixteen and all her friends already had. Some of them had done much more.

On the train ride back, he continued holding her hand, as she thought about that kiss. She'd liked it. At one point during the ride, he pulled his hand away, then put his arm around her, but not without awkwardly bumping her side with his elbow.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay."

He was looking at her, like he was contemplating something, then looked around the train car. There were only a few other people on the train with them, sitting several seats in front of them, absorbed in their phones.

He kissed her again, but it was slower this time, and longer. He pulled her closer with his arm, and placed his other hand against her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Mary liked how it felt. He was really good at this. She carefully put her hand over his, encouraging him to keep it there. He seemed to like that. When he pulled away, he smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"That was nice," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed.

It was nice. She hadn't stopped thinking about it, and Mary was thinking about that day now as she watched him with the other boys, but she saw he'd put his shirt back on and was coming over to her. Oh, God did he see her staring?

"Hey," he said to her, grinning broadly.

"Hey," she replied with the same grin.

"Oh my God," Marisol said, rolling her eyes.

"Do you want to come walk with me?" He asked.

"Okay," Mary replied, taking the hand he offered to her.

"Wow, you guys are just _so_ adorable!" Marisol's sarcasm wasn't very subtle.

Mary could hear Dominique and Jessica telling her to shut her face as they walked away.

They walked around the perimeter of the closest building, away from everyone. They walked in silence for a time, but it was a comfortable silence.

"So, I told my grandmother about you," he said after a while.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. She said she'd like to see you sometime. She said she was at your baptism."

"Was she? I don't remember that." But Mary felt like that was dumb thing to say. Of course she wouldn't remember since she'd only been a year old.

"Yeah. She said my grandfather was there, too. And Dean Skinner's dad."

"Really?"

Mary was puzzled. Why were all of them there? She'd only seen her family in the pictures.

"Why would they all come to my baptism?"

"Maybe your grandparents wanted to show you off. I mean, look at you."

Mary blushed and she didn't care at all if he saw it.

They'd discovered that his grandmother had been at her grandfather's funeral. Mary remembered her grandmother calling the woman with her Monica, but she hadn't known who the woman was at the time. And Mary's grandmother had been at his grandfather's funeral. He said he remembered a red-headed woman there, helping his sobbing grandmother out of the memorial into the chapel. The connections between them fascinated them, and here they were now at the academy together. It was all very strange how it had worked out.

Simon led her over to a gazebo by the marshes. People used to not be able to come here for the pythons, but they'd erected an electric fence in front of it to keep them out.

Mary came here by herself sometimes, going through a gate to outside the fence, to see the python she'd saved. She'd named it Samantha. That name had just popped into her head, and she'd heard her grandparents talking about a Samantha before. She wasn't sure if Samantha the Python was actually a female, but she liked Mary. She would come up out of the marshes when she heard Mary's voice, coil up beside Mary, resting her head on her lap, wanting her to pet her as if she were a lapdog.

But Mary didn't want to tell Simon about that. She wasn't sure if his family was like hers. Or if he was like her. She didn't know if she wanted to reveal that part of herself just yet.

They sat there for a while quietly, hand in hand.

"So…" Simon turned towards her.

"So…" Mary repeated.

"I, um…I really want to kiss you again," he ducked his head after he said it. His nervousness was endearing to her. She wasn't used to boys being nervous around her, or wanting to kiss her.

Mary smiled and pulled his face to hers to kiss him, and it felt like fireworks were going off in her head. They kissed for a long time, making out in the gazebo for what felt like hours. After a while, he cautiously put his hand up her shirt to touch her back, and she just as cautiously put her hands up his, sliding them up his stomach and chest to feel what she'd seen earlier. She liked it. She could feel something stirring awake inside her that she'd never felt before, but they quickly stopped. Someone was probably watching, and they would get in so much trouble.

"I really like you a lot," he said shyly, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I really like you a lot, too."

As Mary sat there with him, looking into his sparkling green eyes, she thought she might go see Jessica tomorrow. She wasn't sure if she would do anything like that with him, but she was just as equally unsure that she wouldn't. She should be prepared, though, in case that time came. Because she was terribly afraid that when that time did come, the only thing she would be able to say is yes.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _7:02am_

"Well, there's no scar. I don't see where an incision was ever made," the SRP was saying. "Do you see anything?"

"No," Gibson replied. "There's nothing there at all."

Mary had her head back, and they had both leaned down to look at her neck for the metal disk. They were annoying the life out of her already, and the day had only just begun. With their heads close like that, she felt like knocking them together like The Three Stooges.

The SRP stood upright. "Are you sure it's even there?"

"Yes!" Mary said, exasperated, as she pointed to the spot just below her thyroid. "It's right there!"

She was also grumpy because she hadn't slept at all. She'd paced around her room all night thinking about everything: Leonard and what was going to happen tonight and how she was going to tell him, and then seeing Simon. Oh, God. Simon? Really? After all this time? What were the odds that he would just fall out of oblivion right here and right now? And then replaying and over-analyzing everything the SRP had told her. That made her the most anxious of all, because she wasn't sure if this woman was trustworthy. Her grandmother hadn't thought so, so why should she? And how would her grandmother feel about Mary allying herself with this woman? She wouldn't be happy about it at all.

Mary had wanted to call her last night, even if it woke her up, and just tell her everything. All of it. Everything that was happening right now, but she couldn't. She was going to have to deal with that later. One thing at a time, she told herself. And the first thing she was going to have to deal with was Leonard Hosteen and telling him about her parents. And if he didn't run away screaming, then…

Oh, then…

It made her nervous, but in a good way. When she thought about him, about being with him in that way, in his bed, it made her heart pound and the butterflies in her stomach morph into bats. She hadn't let herself think about it too much, but now she couldn't stop.

"Where are you at in your cycle?" The SRP asked.

Mary stared at her, horrified. "Don't ask me that with _him_ standing right here!"

She looked at Mary for a minute, then turned to Gibson, waving him away. "Leave us."

Gibson's face reddened. "Okay, okay." He turned towards the door. "Ma'am," he said curtly, saluting her before shutting the door.

"And stay out of my head!" She called after him.

"Stay out of your head?" Mary asked.

"Alright," the SRP said, sitting down in front of her. "Where are you at?"

Mary sighed. "It's the perfect time, believe it or not."

She hadn't believed it herself when she counted the days. She was at the perfect window to conceive. And plus it was a full moon, she always reached this point when there was a full moon. The timing of this was too perfect. It was eerie.

"Great. And you know, right? You know he has to…you have to let him..."

"Oh my God! You have to stop!" This was getting far too personal and uncomfortable. The SRP was making it into something else, and it was making Mary angry. She didn't want to talk about these things with her. "I know, okay? _I know._ I'm not stupid!"

"I didn't say you were stupid. But the way you looked the first time we talked about this, I thought maybe you didn't know."

"Of course, I know!" Mary snapped, then quickly wished she hadn't said that.

The SRP had a tremendous gift for drawing things out of people, making them reveal things without much effort at all. It was maddening. She was good at making Mary say things and admit things. Mary didn't like it.

"Are you okay?" The SRP asked her, concern creasing across her forehead. "You look exhausted already."

"I didn't get any sleep."

"Were you thinking about what I told you?"

"Yes."

"You think I'm a terrible person?"

Mary looked at her for a second. "I don't know."

She nodded like she understood. "Sometimes we have to do things that are not entirely moral or ethical for the greater good."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it? What do you think you're doing right now?"

"This is different."

"Oh, no it's not. You're breaking about a dozen laws right now. And if Hosteen's Council found out he had a family without their consent, he'd be pulled out of office immediately, and with no one qualified to replace him, we'd all have to deal with Avenham for six more years. _Avenham_. Plus, do you really think other Guard members would be pleased to find out that a fellow Guard member was allowed to keep her position while starting a family? Think of the outrage that would cause. And me? I wouldn't be reelected if it ever came out I'd been helping you."

"I didn't ask for your help! _You_ asked _me_ , remember?"

"No, I don't, because I didn't ask you to do a damn thing."

Mary opened her mouth to retaliate, but she couldn't remember when the SRP had actually asked her to do this. She could have sworn she'd asked her, but indeed she hadn't. God, she was good at this; persuasion and manipulation. No wonder her grandmother didn't like her.

"But remember the point of all this," the SRP said, her eyes softening. "There is a greater good to this. All of this is temporary. In eight years, when your contract is up, you and him can take your family anywhere and do as you please."

"Why can't we just wait for eight years?"

Her smile was wide and sweet. "You don't really want to wait that long to be with him, do you?"

"No, but…well, I meant wait eight years before we had any children. I'll only be thirty. There'll still be plenty of time."

"But you're very young and healthy now, and this is the best time in a woman's life to start. Why put it off?"

Mary wasn't sure how to answer. She knew women that didn't start having children until they were in their forties and fifties. Delaying motherhood was easier now than it used to be. But she supposed it was better to start now, although she wasn't sure yet how many children she wanted or he wanted. It occurred to her just then that had never been discussed.

"Well," the SRP said, standing up. "We're just going to have to enlist a doctor that will forge your medical reports. I don't think there's a way we can turn that thing off."

"What about my grandmother? Or my mother? They're both doctors."

"Oh, no. You can't tell them about this."

"Why not? They wouldn't say anything to anyone."

"It's safer for them if they don't know anything. Besides, the way your grandmother is treated, it wouldn't be long before NAU intelligence found mention of it in any correspondence between you. We have to leave family out of it. At least at this stage."

* * *

As Mary left the room later, feeling irritable, tired, and frustrated with the SRP, Gibson walked alongside her down to the motorcade waiting on them. The SRP had told them to go ahead and she'd be along in a minute with the other South Guards. She'd interrupted her conversation with Mary to take a call that she clearly didn't want Mary or Gibson in the room for.

"You don't have to start doing that yet," Mary said to him crossly. "I don't need to be escorted to the car."

Gibson nodded and walked slower, moving behind her.

"You know why she talks like that to you, don't you?" He asked her quietly.

"What?" She turned to look back at him as she walked. "Like what?"

"Bossy, condescending, abrupt. You know how she is."

"You know her better than me."

"I do. But she talks like that to you for one reason and one reason only."

Mary stopped, and turned back to him. "What?"

"Jealousy."

"What would she be jealous of? She's the President."

Gibson opened the door for her as they got in the car. Mary wasn't sure why he did that. That was her job.

He looked at her for a minute as they sat there waiting, as if she was supposed to figure it out. But she had nothing to figure out.

"Because you're young and you're beautiful," he said finally. "You've found someone that loves you the way everyone wants to be loved. That time for her, that possibility for her, is over."

Mary just looked at him, trying to see if he was being sincere. It was strange hearing him call her beautiful. He was one of the few people that had ever said that to her. She could count them all on one hand.

"And you get to have a family, too. That possibility is also over for her, and she knows it. This is all she can do with her life now. Those men she worked for, she definitely helped them, but they took away so much from her."

Mary wasn't sure if she believed him. The SRP had always seemed far too self-assured to be jealous of anyone. But she also hadn't thought about the SRP being the romantic or sentimental type.

"She loved someone once," Gibson continued. "He was a monster. But that was the last and only time she's ever loved anyone like that. She's had to accept she will be alone for the rest of her life. It's a difficult thing to realize and accept. You won't ever have to do that, and she envies you for that."

Mary was getting ready to ask him who the man was, when the door opened and she got inside, the other Guard members getting in, too.

"Are we ready?" She said smiling at them, her gaze resting on Mary.

That question had a double meaning for Mary, but Mary could see then, in her face, in her eyes, that her smile had something else behind it. Something painful, regretful, and lonely.

* * *

When they pulled up to the WRP's home, Mary felt instant butterflies. Leonard was back now, and she hoped like hell Simon wasn't there. It shouldn't be a problem, but it was. She didn't want to see him or "catch up," as he put it.

She and the other Guards opened the car doors, saluting the SRP as she got out with Gibson as they usually did. But when they got inside, the SRP abruptly turned away from Mary, going to down another hall, with the other Guards on either side of her. Surprised, Mary turned to go with her, but Gibson had come up behind her, taking her arm and leading her away.

"What are you doing?"

Gibson looked over her head, nodding at someone. Mary turned to see As He Stands nodding back, looking this way and that, and then disappearing down another hall. Gibson took Mary into the room with all the artwork.

"What -?"

But he turned to leave, closing a door behind him, locking it. On the other side of the room, she saw As He Stands close that door and lock it as well.

She didn't have to stand there long to find out what was going on. Leonard was standing in there by the Maori statue.

"I hope that didn't alarm you too much. I just couldn't wait to see you," he said, walking over to her.

When she saw him, the nerves and irritation from earlier dissipated. His presence put her at ease; he made her feel safe.

He put his hand to her cheek, looking into her eyes. Mary liked looking into his eyes now that she could see it there: a glowing abyss that she wanted so much to fall into and never come out of.

"I missed you," he said softly.

"I missed you, too." She meant it. She had missed him, even while visiting her grandfather and the clinic, she had missed him. But it hit her the hardest when she saw him.

She thought she would die if he didn't kiss her right now, and when he did it felt different this time. There was something else behind it – anticipation, a longing for what was to come. She felt like her knees were going to give out. If this was how it felt to kiss him….then what was she going to feel later?

It seemed to have the same effect on him. He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath, like he was trying to compose himself.

"There's going to be a ceremony later," he said after a minute. "I've asked a Navajo elder and a priest to preside."

"A ceremony?"

"Yes. A marriage ceremony."

Mary looked at him, surprised. "But we can't do that, right? I thought we couldn't do that."

"We can't legally. But I wanted to do this with you the right way, the honorable way. Don't you want that, too?"

"Yes, of course," she said, still in disbelief. Was he really going to marry her?

"And I don't think I can stand another day without calling you my wife."

The jagged edges of a memory came into Mary's consciousness just then, but she quickly shoved it away. She didn't want to think about that right now. All she wanted to think about was him and that he was going to be her husband, and she was going to be his wife. This was all too much. She felt like her heart might explode.

"We'll have to go soon. I have a meeting, and we'll have to go in separately, but I wanted to show you something first."

He pulled out his phone and pulled up an image of the Andromeda Galaxy. He zoomed into star clusters until he found the one he was looking for. There was an arrow pointing to a tiny light, off a little way from its neighbors, with the words "Mary Scully" right beside it.

"That's your star."

She felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at it.

"I told you I would name a star after you," he smiled down at her.

Oh, God, did she _really_ have to tell him? The loss, the tremendous loss this would be, was now even greater. She didn't have to tell him. No. She couldn't now. And everything was fine, right? Her children would not be humpbacked freaks. They would be just fine.

"Are you okay?" He asked her, as she put her fingers at the corner of her eyes to keep the tears away.

"I just never thought I'd have a star named after me."

"I'd name a million stars after you."

Just then, she heard a lock on one of the doors click, making her jump. Gibson opened the door. Had he been out there the whole time? The other door also unlocked, and As He Stands opened that door.

"I'll see you later," he kissed the top of her head, and left with As He Stands.

Mary walked out with Gibson and he led her down a hallway and through rooms she'd never been in before.

"Where are we going?"

"You can't both come in the same way or at the same time. Someone might notice."

Mary thought that they'd orchestrated this rather quickly. How long had they been planning this? And how did Gibson know his way around here so well? Had they been practicing?

But she stopped thinking about all that when she realized the decision she'd just made: she wasn't going to tell him. She didn't need to, did she? Their children would be fine, and she couldn't lose him. She just couldn't risk it. And if they couldn't tell their families, then what would be the point? She never saw or talked to her father anyway. It was almost like he didn't exist.

So, now she had the next part to deal with. The part where she would become his wife, the part where she would go to bed with him, and the part where she would hope and pray their first child came sooner rather than later.

* * *

Gibson looked around the room carefully. There was West Guard posted on one wall, but none of them was Simon Doggett. He was probably on the grounds somewhere, walking a puma maybe, but thank God he wasn't in here.

And Mary and Hosteen were playing this off very well. She was over on the other wall with the South Guard, looking straight ahead like the rest, her expression neutral. But he knew what was going on in her head. She was drowning in the warm and inviting waters of love.

Hosteen hadn't looked at her either. He was looking at the monitors where Burns and Avenham were teleconferencing in. But his head was full of her; he'd wanted to do more than just kiss her in that room earlier. It might be a challenge to keep them apart until they could be together safely. Love can cloud a person's judgement.

Gibson had to concede that Hosteen was a good man. He didn't mean her any harm. If this had been Burns or, God forbid, Avenham, he'd done everything he could to get Mary away from them.

Burns stared coldly at all of them from the monitor. His face had hard, sharp features as if it had been carved out of the ice from within the Region he managed. Someone had turned Avenham the wrong way, so he wasn't facing them directly. He was looking off to the side. Didn't he know he was facing the wrong way? He was wearing a baseball cap with two hands sticking out of the top. When he pulled a string he could make them clap, which he did every time one of the other Presidents started talking, but mostly when Burns was talking.

"I don't think 2054 is reasonable," Burns was saying. "That's not enough time to train a crew for a voyage of that length."

"Hosteen and I already have trainees on standby," Covarrubias said. "We took the old NASA facility in the South, and trained volunteers. They understood the training was voluntary until we were all on board. They're already halfway trained. We'll only need a few more."

"I don't like that," Burns said. "You two shouldn't be doing that without telling us. And don't mention NASA. That agency was a toilet. We're not going to do it the way they did. We shouldn't even be using that facility."

"You've had trainees in the Yukon for years, Julian," Hosteen said. "And you didn't get our permission for that."

Burns looked outraged anytime one of them caught him in a hypocrisy, as if he had the right to do that and no one else did.

"What about the hotel?" Avenham chimed in, still staring in the wrong direction.

The rest of them looked at each other for a minute.

"Hotel?" Hosteen asked.

"Yes! We can't have the terrorists and communists building hotels on the moon before we do! That's how they recruit people. Remember all the hotels of the Old Republic? People went into hotels and came out terrorists all the time!"

Avenham genuinely believed what he was saying, and someone had told him to say "terrorist" and "communist" a lot early on his political career. But those terms were very dated, and he said them all the time in all sorts of nonsensical ways. The other three had just learned to let him talk, and then continue on with their conversation.

"So, how many more trainees are we talking about?" Burns asked, his face getting red with annoyance.

"We were thinking ten more. Maybe fifteen," Hosteen replied.

"Old Republicans!" Avenham shouted. "Get them out of my Region and send them! Let them build our hotels! I am so sick and tired of the money I have to spend to track them! Put them on the damn moon! I took on this burden so the three of you wouldn't have it, and you haven't given me a cent!"

Avenham didn't take on any burden; the first ERP had decided that, but hearing Old Republicans made Gibson think of Mary's grandmother. He glanced over at her, while Avenham continued his rant, and the other three tried to get him back on track. Her grandmother had no idea what was happening, and she should know.

He still didn't know how the SRP was planning to take their children. Would she pay the midwife to tell Mary it had been a still born? Would she be so depraved as to switch out a live baby with a dead one and have Mary and Hosteen think it was SIDS? Maybe if he talked to Dana Scully about this, he could somehow convince the SRP to give him the children, and he could take them to her. He was beginning to hope Mary wouldn't conceive too soon. He was going to need more time for this.

He decided to look up Dana Scully in the registry when he had a chance. Or was she Dana Mulder now? He wasn't sure if she ever changed her name. But how was he going to do this? He'd never been away from the SRP for any length of time. He didn't have any family, so what would he tell her? He would come up with something, but he wasn't sure what.

This was going to be difficult, but he had to try. He had to find a way to see Scully without Mary, the SRP, or anyone else finding out. Otherwise, Mary and Hosteen would lose their children, and he knew that it would break both their hearts.


	13. Chapter 13

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2044_

 _9:37pm_

"Ready?" Dominique asked Mary.

"Yep!"

They could already hear the click of the sergeant's heels as she came down the hall to check their rooms for curfew. They waited until she opened their door, looking at both of them, and tapping a button on her phone to count that they were there. Both of them smiled at her sweetly, and she ordered them to go to sleep.

As soon as the door was closed, Mary took off her nightgown. She was wearing her casual clothes underneath. Dominique had helped her pick out her outfit earlier. Mary had changed clothes about a dozen times until she and Dominique agreed on an outfit. Something pretty, but not too pretty. Something that brought out all of Mary's best features, which Mary didn't really think she had much of.

Mary went over to her desk and pulled out the roll of masking tape. She pulled off two strips, made them into an X, stuck them to their window, shined her desk light over it, and then they turned off all the other lights in the room.

Mary wasn't sure why she'd thought of that as a good signal. It had just come to her when she and Simon were discussing how to communicate without anyone seeing or hearing. Phone messages and other chat platforms were monitored. But this X thing was a good idea. Who would know to look for that? In a few minutes, Simon would see the X, then he would throw rocks at her window when he was there. Mary lay in her bed, feeling excited and impatient as she usually did, waiting to hear them tap against the glass.

The boy's dorm was across the drill field, but they'd figured out they could see that signal from either side if it was dark enough. Both of their windows were on the third floor and in a part of the buildings that faced each other. Every night now, each of them looked for the X, and if it was there, they would sneak out and see each other. They left it up for exactly thirty minutes to give each other time. If neither of them were there in that time that meant one of them wasn't able to get out of the dorm for some reason. They would just have to wait for the next night.

The doors in the girls' dorm automatically locked at 2100. But not all of them did. There was a little known and long neglected door under the stairwell that wasn't as secure as the rest. The last girl in always folded up a piece of paper into squares until it was thick enough to put in the lock so the door wouldn't catch. Mary was not the first and certainly not the last cadet to sneak out of the dorm at night.

Mary heard a tap against the glass. She held her breath to wait for the next one. It was always three times. If it was any more or any less, then neither of them would come out, just in case they were being tricked.

Mary heard it a second time, then a third. She waited a bit to see if there would be a fourth. When there wasn't, she quickly pushed the covers off her, put on her shoes, and turned off the lamp to let Simon know she was coming.

"Don't stay out too late," Dominique said, batting her eyes.

Mary laughed. "I won't."

They always covered for each other just in case there was another bed check. But the sergeant on their floor was lazy. She mostly just wiggled the door handles to make sure the doors were locked. And second bed checks were few and far between. So far, there hadn't been another one.

When Mary went out, Dominique would lock the door. They'd come up with a knock pattern for when Mary or Dominique needed to come back in later. Mary shut the door, waited to hear Dominique lock it, ran as quietly as she could down the stairs, out of the neglected door, and out into the night.

She waited by a cluster of trees and bushes that were in the shadow of one of the base lights and the camera didn't pick it up. Both Mary and Simon had spent time studying camera angles during the day to see which direction they'd have to walk or what to walk behind to avoid being seen. They knew which doorways to stand in, which buildings to avoid all together, and how to weave through the walkways to avoid ever being detected. So far, no one knew a thing.

Then Mary heard him walking up behind her, those familiar arms wrapping around her, and his head leaning against hers.

"Hi."

"Hi." She pulled him closer, pulling his arms tighter around her.

God, the way he made her feel.

Reckless.

Careless.

Happy.

Awake.

She was more than willing to risk demerits or a trip to the coast to help the Guard clean it up to be with him. And she knew he was willing to risk the same to be with her. Damn all the rules.

He gently turned her around, and held her face in his hands. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

They'd seen each other only a few hours ago, across the dining hall, while sergeants paraded up and down the aisles. But those hours felt like days. And the time they could spend alone together went by too quick; a snap of a finger and it was over. They would talk mostly, make out, talk again, and make out again. He hadn't tried to do anything else, although she knew he wanted to. And she did, too.

But last year, Jessica, Jamal, and another couple were sent home when the girls became pregnant. It had been a very embarrassing ordeal for them, and the academy had to reevaluate their supervision policies lest they be subject to lawsuits. Mary had immediately flushed the pills Jessica gave her down the toilet, thanking her lucky stars she hadn't used them. They clearly hadn't worked at all.

So, she and Simon were frightened into staying behind that boundary. Neither one of them wanted to be sent home in disgrace and risk never seeing each other again. But the closer they got, the more difficult it became to stop what was happening between them, and that closeness brought in another series of problems for Mary: she still didn't know if Simon was like her or if his family was like hers.

She knew he had a big family. His grandparents had seven children and Simon's father was their third son. Simon had lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins living all over the Union, but he was an only child.

"An only child like you," he'd said to her.

"Yeah," she'd replied quietly.

How long could she keep this up? She was afraid to tell him about that other side of her family. No one else knew except Dean Skinner. Could she trust Simon? And she didn't think she could handle it if he called her any of those horrible names Madison called her. She couldn't tell him. Not yet.

But tonight she was going to reveal something about herself to him. And hope and pray he didn't run away from her and never speak to her again.

"I want to show you something," she said, taking his hand, leading him through a long and jagged path to avoid the cameras.

"Wait." He pulled her over to him and kissed her so deeply she felt like she was going to melt into a puddle at his feet.

She lost her focus for a second. He had a way of doing that to her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been waiting all day for that. What did you want to show me?"

She smiled and reminded herself to be brave. It was best to find out now what his reaction would be before this went any further.

She took him over by the electric fence that hummed with enough voltage to kill an ape. She opened the gate that led to the marshes and he stopped.

"There's pythons over there. We can't go over there."

"It's okay," she reassured him, tugging on his hand for him to follow her.

She walked by the marshes, calling for Samantha. He looked over at her, clearly confused and not wanting to be here at all.

Before long, Mary saw the yellow and olive green spots weaving through the reeds, then she slid upon the bank, coiling around Mary's feet.

"Oh, shit! Shit!" Simon let go of her hand, and backed away towards the fence.

"It's okay! She won't hurt you. I promise."

Mary had told Samantha not to hurt Simon. Mary didn't know how or why, but Samantha listened to and did what Mary told her to do, even when Mary said it silently in her head.

"What is even happening right now?" He looked from Mary to Samantha as she raised up to look at him, her tongue flicking in and out of her mouth.

"I think she wants you to pet her," Mary told him.

"No way!"

Mary gently took his hand and brought it to Samantha's head.

"See? It's okay."

He carefully stroked the top of her head while she continued to stare at him, tilting her head to one side in the way that dogs do.

"Oh, wow," he said, laughing nervously. "How is this even possible?"

"She likes me," Mary said, carefully, slowly. "Because I saved her."

"Saved her?"

"Yes. I can do that. I can…bring things back to life."

Simon stared at her.

"Can you do that?" Mary asked hopefully. "Can you do things? Like hear people's thoughts or move things without touching them?"

Simon slowly shook his head. "No." He looked at her for a minute. "Can you?"

Mary nodded.

He didn't say anything for a minute or two, but at least he wasn't running the other way yet.

"So, like," he said, his face getting red. "You can hear what I'm thinking. Like when I kiss you and stuff? You can hear what I'm thinking?"

"No, no, no," Mary shook her head. "Just my fam—um, my mother. I can't hear my grandmother's, though. I don't know why."

He looked relieved for a second, and Mary wished she could actually hear what he was thinking when he kissed her. They were probably thinking the same thing.

"No, I can't do any of those things," he told her. "How can you do that?"

"I was hoping you were like me. Like your family was like mine."

"Like how?"

"Well…my grandmother, she was abducted a long time ago. And these people they did tests on her. They used her DNA to create my mother."

"Create?"

"Yes. She's not…um," Mary braced herself. "She's not entirely human."

Simon was very still. He'd stopped petting Samantha and she'd curled around Mary's feet.

"What is she then?"

"She's a hybrid. Part human…part…not."

Mary winced as soon as she said it, turning her face away from him, waiting for him to make the connections.

He walked over to her, looking at her, studying her face. "What's the not part?"

Mary looked up at the sky and he followed her gaze. "From up there."

Mary looked over at him, then quickly looked away. Oh, please don't let him run away from her. Please let him still like her.

"But you're not like green or anything," he said, confused.

"I don't think it's like that. I don't know what it is exactly, but…it's just something that's not from here."

"So, what's your dad? Was he a person?"

Mary nodded quickly. He's just as much of a person as her mother is, so it wasn't a complete lie.

"But you never met him, right?"

"Right," Mary lied. Not yet. She can't tell him that yet.

Simon looked down at his feet. "I've heard something like this before."

"You have?"

"Yeah, like abductions and stuff. I've heard my grandparents talk about that before. My dad said when he was little my grandparents were really paranoid that someone was going to come take him and my uncles. But nothing like that ever happened. They'd make them hide whenever anyone came to the house."

"Did they ever say why?"

"No, but…there was always something kind of strange about them," he looked around as he sorted through his memories. "I don't think they're like you or your family, but…they weren't like _old_ , you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my grandfather was just so healthy. He never got sick. Ever. Not a cold or anything. Not until…well…and my grandmother is in her eighties, but people always think she's like forty. She had a tumor in one of her lungs a few years ago and it just went away. On its own. Like all the sudden. She didn't take any medicine or chemo. It was just gone. And they had _seven_ kids, and they didn't even have the first one until they were older. And two sets of twins. That's like impossible, right?"

"No, but it's rare I guess."

Simon was still studying her face, looking her up and down. She _really_ wished she could hear his thoughts right now.

"Please don't think I'm a freak," Mary said quickly. "I don't have a tail or anything. Or scales. I'm not like a lizard. I'm normal. At least on the outside I am. Please don't hate me now, Simon. I don't think…I don't think I could handle that." She felt tears coming into her eyes at the thought of it.

"No, I don't think that at all," he said as he pulled her into his arms to hug her. "Not at all."

She buried her face in his neck and prayed this wouldn't be the last time she'd ever get to hug him.

"Do you ever think," he said after a while. "That things happen for a reason? Like they happen in just the right way and at just the right time?"

"I don't know."

He brought her face towards his, looking directly into her eyes.

"I think it does. I think we were supposed to meet each other. And I think we're supposed to be together."

Mary looked back at him, unsure of what to say. Were they? It did seem that way, didn't it? What were the odds they'd both end up here and have families with pasts so intertwined?

As they'd been talking, Samantha had coiled herself around their feet, getting bored. Seeing that they were now lost in something and would no longer be paying attention to her, she went back into the marshes to leave them alone.

Lost in something. Something they would never really find their way out of. Something that they would remain lost in for the rest of their lives.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _10:42pm_

When the Ceremonial Guard traveled with the SRP they only had to bring their uniforms, casual clothing for their off days, and something semi-formal in case the SRP went to a banquet or a charity function. The dress that Mary always brought with her wasn't the best one she had, but she always brought it, and rarely ever had to wear it.

But tonight it was going to be her wedding dress.

It was black lace at the top, dipping down between her shoulders in the front and the back, the waist fitting her snugly, the skirt fanning out into an A line down to her knees. Mary would have never thought when she bought it that she would be wearing it for something like this, and she wished that she had brought a better dress with her. Something a lighter color at least. Women rarely wore white anymore, but she never thought she'd be wearing black.

The SRP unpinned and untwisted her hair from the bun it was usually in. Mary smacked her hands away as she tried to brush her hair, but relented in the end, letting her curl the ends into thick spirals and pin back the sides.

"Are those the only heels you have?" The SRP asked as she walked around her, examining her.

"Yes. I didn't know he was going to do this. You could have told me."

"I was just as surprised as you," she replied as she went over to the safe, scanning her hand, and pulling out a necklace.

"Something borrowed," she winked at Mary in the mirror as she lay the sparkling diamonds around Mary's neck, clasping it in the back.

She gave her another look over.

"You look lovely," she said as she looked at Mary's reflection. She actually seemed sincere.

Mary looked back at her in the mirror, wanting to smile, wanting to be happy about this, but this isn't at all how she'd pictured her wedding day would be. It would have been during the day for one thing, and her mother wasn't here. Or her grandmother. Or Esther. It should be them helping her get ready, not this woman. But she was marrying Leonard Hosteen. She could be happy about that. She could picture Beauty Queen Eve's face, mouth agape with disbelief, if she knew about this. And Ephraim's, too. Their filthy inbred half-sister was marrying the West Region President and would become the Mother of the entire planet. Thinking about that made her feel better.

The car arrived at the hotel at eleven, As He Stands behind the wheel. The SRP and Gibson rode up with her, but they didn't pull around to the front. As He Stands drove them up another driveway that circled around to the back of the WRP's home. He escorted them through a door in the back, down some stairs, and into a part of the house that was different from the rest of it.

Mary had seen pictures of Hollywood starlets in the 1930s and 1940s in rooms like these. She could picture one of them posing with a mink stole and long cigarette holder in one of these rooms. Perhaps one of them had lived here once.

They walked to the entrance of an interfaith chapel, but it was clearly set up for Native worship by the symbols and words on the walls and doorway. The SRP and Gibson continued inside, but Mary was stopped by two Navajo women, who she found out later were Leonard's aunts. She didn't know why he was able to have family there and she wasn't.

They were twins with long dark hair with streaks of grey woven through. They were not in traditional dress, but they wore traditional jewelry, long beaded earrings that came down past their shoulders and necklaces made with jade, turquoise, and obsidian.

Mary quickly figured out that they were completely deaf and mute. They signed things to each other, then to Mary, but it wasn't standard sign language. It was a different type that the Navajo, Blackfoot, and Lakota had created for their own people.

Instead of a bouquet, they handed Mary a small basket of strawberries and another small basket filled with cornmeal. They signed to her to carry them with her into the chapel and up to the altar. Then they started making signs in front of her, drawing invisible symbols on her cheeks and forehead. They wrapped a cloak around her made of leather with intricate Navajo designs painted on it.

They went in ahead of her, as if they were her bridesmaids, and Mary followed them inside. There was no music, no wedding march. The chapel was dark except for candles everywhere. Some of them were real and some were the fake kind, the "flames" were lights that imitated the flicker of fire. Mary could smell the faint scent of incense and another scent of sage mixed in with it.

Leonard was not at the altar waiting. He was at the end of the aisle to walk up with her. He was wearing one of his presidential suits, but had a cloak around him similar to hers. Standing at the front was a Navajo elder in traditional dress, his white braids hung down to his knees. Next to him was a Roman Catholic priest with the Latin Vulgate in his hands. It hadn't occurred to Mary until just then they had different religions. Mary knew her mother would be very distressed if she knew she was marrying a man that wasn't Catholic.

When she took the arm he offered her, she felt her fears and worries dissipate. Being with him put her at such ease. None of the details of this mattered. What mattered was being with him. What mattered was the journey they were starting together, and what a journey it was going to be – the Mother and Father of the future.

First Man and First Woman.

The Navajo elder instructed them to sit on their knees facing each other. Mary awkwardly removed her heels so she could sit comfortably. He then instructed her to place the small baskets in between them. The elder then began speaking in Navajo, then the priest would repeat in Latin. Mary wondered if they'd rehearsed this. How did they know what to do?

Mary looked at Leonard as they talked, remembering when he looked at her that day, right in her eyes. She remembered him coming into the stadium, waving at all his female admirers. None of them were here right now. She was. He was marrying her. How could this possibly be happening? Out of all the women in the Union, out of all the women in the world, it was her here right now. He hadn't taken his eyes away from her since she'd walked in, and she knew he would never take his eyes away from her to look at anyone else. She was all he could see, and he was all she could see.

The elder instructed her to stand up, then reach out her hand to him, asking him to stand with her. The elder then wrapped both their cloaks around them, pushing them closer together. She had no idea what he was saying, but she understood the meaning behind this. They were being joined, entwined, and wrapped up in love; bound in promises of togetherness, trust, and devotion.

The only part the priest said in English was that they were now pronounced man and wife and Leonard may kiss the bride, which he did immediately, creating surge of desire inside her. She could feel that same desire from him, too.

This was happening.

She was the wife of Leonard Hosteen.

Now Mary could start feeling anxious. The ceremony was over, and they were moving on to the next part.

He went one way with As He Stands and Mary went the other with his aunts. She didn't see where the SRP and Gibson went. His aunts took her up through a couple flights of stairs in a narrow stairwell that household servants must have used once upon a time. They took her into a small bedroom and shut the door. They mimed for her to remove her dress.

Mary shook her head. Wasn't he supposed to do that?

They gestured to a bottle of oil, then signed for her to take off her clothing again. Mary shook her head again. What were they doing? She really wished she understood their type of sign language.

They both gave her reassuring looks, patting her on the cheek, nodding to her that it was okay.

Mary reluctantly removed her clothes, feeling uncomfortable, and incredibly embarrassed. She quickly wrapped her arms around her nakedness, but they gently coaxed her arms down, giving her reassuring looks again.

Mary didn't know what the oil was, but it smelled nice. They smoothed it all over skin. It felt weird, and also ticklish, but the oil had a nice warming effect. It calmed her and excited her all at once.

One of them unpinned the sides of her hair and the other finger combed it. It relaxed her even more so that by the time they'd wrapped her back up in the cloak and took her down the hallway, she felt tranquil and excited in all the right places. The scent of the oil and the feel of it on her skin seemed to have an odd influence on her; dreamy and calming.

Mary had expected the door to his bedroom to be bigger and more decorative, more obvious that it was the WRP's bedroom, but it was just a plain door. One of the aunts opened it and gestured for her to enter. Once inside, she heard it close and lock.

This was happening.

The only light in the room came from a lamp by the bedside and moonlight through translucent curtains over a large window. It overlooked the Pacific. He was standing by it wrapped up in the cloak he wore from earlier. She walked over to him and he approached her, meeting in the middle of the room.

What was she supposed to do now? She was beginning to get anxious again, forgetting all the intricacies and unofficial actions that occurred while being intimate with someone. There was a method to this and she'd just forgotten all of it.

He removed her cloak then. And she carefully removed his.

She hoped he liked what he saw. She certainly did.

His hair was unbound, grazing his shoulders. There were tattoos on his chest, symbols and words she couldn't read. She traced them with the tips of her fingers, looking up at him. He inhaled sharply as she touched him like that. He cradled her face in his hands, kissing her. She felt something inside her burst just then, spilling a liquid warmth that spread to her limbs, into each finger, each toe, and circulated back into her again. She had never felt that happen before. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around him, and carried her over to his bed. She thought he might lay her back, but instead he set her in front of him, pulling her legs on either side of him so she had to lean back on her hands.

For a time, he just looked at her, running his hands all over her. She liked how it felt. She really didn't want him to stop. That oil his aunts had put all over her had somehow amplified her sense of touch.

But he did stop eventually. "Are you having any doubts? Any regrets?"

"No. None," she replied. "Are you?"

"No. Absolutely none at all."

He looked over at the lamp in the corner and made the light slowly dim until it was out. She realized right then that she'd never seen him do those things, but they'd never been alone like this before. She looked over at the window and parted the curtains so the moonlight would come in. It shone down on their bare skin, making the entire scene seem unearthly, but still sacred. Still a holy union of two people in love.

He was different when he made love to her. He wasn't Presidential; he wasn't the man so many idolized. She felt a reverence coming from him. A reverence for her. He was inside her head, kneeling at her feet. She could feel his love for her, bathing her, caressing her. It was really as if he'd been waiting his whole life for her, and only her. This feeling he gave her made her open up, too. It made her want to cover him in her love, too. It made her want to return exactly what she received. She knew that this was what it was supposed to be like; to love someone and let them love you in return.

Afterwards, he lay behind her, kissing her shoulders, his breath slowing as it warmed her neck. She wished they could just stay here in this way, just like this forever. She turned to face him, her breath slowing, sweat still on her face and neck, wrapping her arms around him, feeling him pull her as close to him as he could. How were they going to carry on in secret for eight years? It was going to be impossible. Because she didn't want to be without him. Not for a minute. But they were going to have to, weren't they?

She hoped as she lay there with him that the sun wouldn't come up too quick, but they were probably going to try to get her out of there before dawn. But she would be back tomorrow night and the next. Then she would have to go home. She didn't want to think about that, though. She was here with him now, and she knew that there would never be any room in her heart for anyone else but him. And as he looked at her, planting kisses on her neck and face, she knew it would be the same for him, too.

First Man and First Woman.

* * *

Gibson put in his ear buds and cranked up the music as loud as he could stand. He was trying to fill the space between his ears so he didn't have to hear Mary and Hosteen.

He couldn't hear them with his ears, but he could hear their thoughts and they came at him like the sideways, swirling rains of a hurricane. He'd learned that most people in these situations were too busy worrying or thinking of someone else to really enjoy it. Knowing that had made him very cynical about love and relationships.

But not these two.

It wasn't pornographic or vulgar, but he didn't like the way it made him feel. The emotions between them were so incredibly intense, it hurt him to hear it. This was the last night he'd have to do this, though. He wished he'd switched shifts with As He Stands so he wouldn't have to be the one that had to drag them away from each other and see Mary so dreamy eyed and satiated from a night of passion.

That first night, he'd stood there impatiently at four in the morning as they kissed over and over again, Hosteen trying to pull her back in. But he'd yanked her away when he started hearing footsteps on the floor above them.

As He Stands and Gibson switched off usually around two in the morning. As He Stands was a man of little words and little thoughts, so Gibson wasn't sure what he thought about all this. When Gibson showed up, he'd give him a nod, close up his tablet and walk off down the hall. He wasn't unfriendly, but it didn't seem like he wanted to relate with Gibson about the job they'd been assigned.

Gibson pulled up the Old Republican registry on his phone to look at Dana Scully's profile again. There were pictures of her face from the front, both sides, and even the back of her head. There was an image of her standing in front of a size chart so one could see how tall she was and if he rested his finger on the image and drew a circle he could spin it 360 degrees. It had shocked him when he first saw her profile. NAU intelligence forced them to come in for a new photo every year, and she looked exactly the same as she did the last time he'd seen her. She was eighty-five now and looked exactly the same. It was unbelievable. He could also see the resemblance between her and Mary. But her eyes didn't glow, and they were empty and weary-looking.

There was even an image of her tattoo, which also surprised him. She didn't seem like the type that would ever get a tattoo and it was the exact same one on Mary's arm. Because she was an Old Republican, she had no privacy whatsoever, so everything about her from markings on her body, her address, her blood type, her ancestry, her medical history, the last time she'd had a flu vaccine, and even what her last financial transaction was, was all there for anyone to see.

The Union was militant about privacy, but only for law-abiding citizens. Criminals, immigrants, and Old Republicans had none whatsoever. In the beginning, they'd gone on a witch hunt for websites that gleaned people's information from social media, court records, and resume-sharing sites to publish for all to see. They bombarded those sites with viruses and Trojans, arrested the owners, tossed them in prison with no trial, and then rode off into cyberspace with their virtual torches to destroy the next violator. Privacy mattered a lot to them, and now citizens could retaliate without mercy if their information was used without their consent.

But people like Dana Scully did not have this privilege.

He'd found Mulder's profile, too. Even in death, Old Republicans had no confidentiality. There was a little bit of him in Mary, too. He'd been surprised to see the very same tattoo on his arm. Why did they have those? Why did Mary have one, too? Had they gotten them all together or something?

He also went looking for Simon Doggett's grandparents. Monica Reyes lived in the West. She was also in her eighties, but could pass for forty-something. She had multiple addresses on her profile just in the last couple of years. Apparently, she'd been living with some of her children and it looked like she was currently living with Simon's mother and father. John Doggett's profile had much of the same as the others, and he was also young-looking when he died. What was with all of them looking so youthful? It was puzzling. What had been done to them? Was it the same thing that had been done to him and the SRP? Certainly something must have made them this way, but what?

At least he knew where Scully lived now, and he was just going to have to come up with a believable story to tell the SRP when he went to see her. Scully was going to be completely shocked to see him. He should probably send her a message first, but that might be too risky. She might not believe that it's him. She probably thought he'd either gotten out of the country or he'd been killed, too.

He'd tried to find Emily just because. She was an immigrant, but he couldn't find her. He wasn't sure of her surname for one thing. Was it Scully or Mulder or some other name given to her by one of nuns? Plus, she was probably a citizen by now, so there would be no information on her.

He didn't even try to find William. There was probably nothing out there about him, unless he'd broken a law.

Gibson checked the time on his phone – 6:59am. He'd let them have a couple extra hours since it was a Saturday morning, there were less people here, and the ones that were here didn't rise as early on Saturdays. But he was going to have to get her out now.

He knocked on the door softly and waited. He always had to knock two or three times. They really didn't want to be apart.

He counted to twenty, then knocked again. Mary flung open the door, a hair tie in between her teeth as she tried to braid her messy hair and put on her shoes. Her blouse was on backwards and inside out. Hosteen picked her up kissing her repeatedly, both of them whispering how they were going to miss the other one, and I love you so much, and I can't live without you, and all the flowery sentimental language of two people in love. It would be endearing to him if it didn't also depress him.

He tried to be patient with them since this was the last time they were going to see each other for a couple of weeks. To them it was going to seem like a couple of years. With all the ways people can communicate now, quickly and over great distances, there is still no substitute for this.

Mary looked back longingly at Hosteen as she slowly followed Gibson down the hall. He was going to have to take her the long way to avoid Simon Doggett. Unlike the Guard dormitory in the South, it was attached to the WRP's home in the West. Gibson could hear Simon close by. They'd gotten through the last few days without an incident and Gibson intended on keeping it that way. Also, he was worried he might punch Simon in the face for what he did to her.

As He Stands had given him a map of the house, including all its secret compartments. As He Stands told him it was probably the home of bootleggers during Prohibition since there were hallways and tunnels that led to the garages where they'd transported illegal liquor over a century ago.

He walked with Mary through them until they were in the garage where As He Stands waited in a car.

"Cutting it kind of close," he said to them as they got in.

"It's my fault," Mary said sadly. "I just didn't want to leave him."

"I gave them more time, too. It's Saturday,"

As He Stands nodded, but he was very annoyed.

Mary looked over at Gibson. "Thank you for doing that."

He nodded. "Don't worry. The next couple of weeks will go by fast."

Then they both ducked down in the seat as the car went down the driveway, down to the main road. The windows were tinted, but they didn't want to take any chances.

Gibson could hear the distress and pining in Mary's thoughts as they drove back. This really wasn't fair to them, and she was beating herself up over the contract she'd signed.

"Maybe the four can push a bill through the Councils that lifts some of the restrictions on the Guard," Gibson said to her, hoping it would help, but he didn't think they would really ever do that.

"Well, they can't right now," she replied hopelessly. "Not without Avenham."

Although still technically the ERP, Avenham had been absolved of his presidential duties while his Council put him on trial for his alleged secret family. Gibson thought they should be putting him on trial for voter fraud instead. He was still polling higher than the other three and if his Council couldn't find grounds for impeachment, he was just going to be voted back in again. How on earth could an idiot like that be so appealing to voters? There had to be something going on.

She was also worried about when they began having children. She was worried about how she'd to be able to see them and care for them. Gibson looked down at her abdomen. It was too soon to tell if she was already pregnant, but if she was he only had nine months to come up with something. He didn't want to hope for this, but he did hope she wasn't yet. He had a strange urge to pull her over to him, to hold her and comfort her. He didn't want her to feel like this.

When they got back to the hotel, they went in a different way, away from the eyes of the lobby staff and walked up the stairs instead of getting in the elevator.

"What time do we leave?" She asked him as she got to her door. "I'd like to rest before we go."

Of course she absolutely needed to rest. He wasn't sure how many times each night, but it was never just once. It was catching up with her now.

"We have a couple of hours," he replied. "I'll knock on your door when we need to start heading to the station."

She smiled at him faintly, then went inside.

He walked down to the SRP's suite and went right on in without knocking. She was up already and reading the news sites.

She was getting ready to say something but he quickly spoke up first.

"When we get back, I'm going to need to take some time off."


	14. Chapter 14

_The North American Union_

 _2045_

 _Island 4_

 _1:18pm_

The helicopter ride was bumpy and loud. It carried them over the poisoned Atlantic as quickly as possible to one of the few unpolluted islands left.

Mary looked over at Simon, smiling at him, getting a good dose of reassurance before they were pumped full of drugs. He smiled back, all their secrets passing between them in that moment. They had quite a few now, and tomorrow they were graduating. They wouldn't have to hide anything anymore. It was a miracle they'd kept it up for this long.

"Stream them in now," one of the sergeants said into her phone.

Mary gasped with the rest of the cadets as she felt it. The disks in their throats lit up as they were activated. They were streaming in a nice cocktail of drugs, which included adrenaline and meds to strip away any empathy while enhancing rage and focus. She could see everyone's eyes dilate, and she knew hers were doing just the same.

They were headed off to complete one of their exams: finish their final for combat and execute criminals all at once. As they got closer, all the cadets looked out of the side door to survey what they were dealing with, standing there on a dirty, unkempt beach that used to be a resort.

Mary could see them, chained and caged, waiting. But these criminals were the worst of the worst. All their heads were shaved completely bald so they could easily see the acronyms tattooed on the fronts and backs.

FDM was first degree murder. SDM, second degree murder. SK meant serial killer. VCAC was violent crimes against children. They each wore a long linen shirt down to their knees with the pictures and names of their victims printed on them to remind the cadets of who they were doing this for. Stapled into the wrist bone of each convict was a device that monitored their pulse. It fed the information to a tablet held by one of the sergeants who would see when their pulse stopped, counting it as a kill.

"Dammit," Hector said. "There's like a hundred of them!"

"I count eighty-three," Dominique said. "Nope. Eighty-four."

Mary looked down at them as they got closer. "There's a lot of old ones. They'll be easy to take down."

The convicts were going to be released just a few seconds before the cadets jumped out of the helicopter. Mary wasn't sure why they even tried to run. This was their execution. But she thought maybe they were told if they got away, they would get a reprieve. It certainly made it a bigger challenge for the cadets. Plus, they'd been fed and allowed to sleep so the cadets would really have to work to take them down.

"How many of us are there again?" Simon asked, looking around.

Someone told him twenty-three.

"Alright," Simon announced. "We're going to have to split up and herd some of them into an ambush."

They discussed their strategy as they got closer. The point wasn't to be individual heroes, but to work together as a squad. They talked about how some of them could be driven into the tide and drowned, but they were going to have to actually snap the necks of most of them. They decided that Mary and eight others would run immediately over to the trees and wait for some of them to be herded over and they could take out several of them that way. Eighty-four was really a lot to keep track of, and they didn't have much time to do this either. Hurricane Brandon was headed their way, and it had just been upgraded to a Category 5.

They weren't here to draw blood; they were here to kill efficiently and quickly. Snap their necks, strangle or drown them if they had to, but avoid drawing blood. It was too dangerous. No one knew what kinds of diseases these people could have. Each cadet had a blade in a cuff of their boots if they needed them, but this wasn't supposed to be a blood bath. And the convicts didn't have much to fight back with anyway. Their fingernails and toenails had been removed and the ones who still had any teeth had been restrained to have them filed down so they couldn't break skin if they tried to bite.

As they all began to line up at the door to jump out, Mary could see wet spots in the sand underneath some of the convicts. They'd urinated themselves out of fear over what was about to be done to them. They were starting to mill around nervously in the cage as the chains around their ankles unlocked and were pulled away.

"Hold!" There was a sergeant on the beach directing the timing. The convicts were yelling to be let out right now because the cadets were getting closer. Their vocal chords had been left intact. This wasn't going to be like all the other times they'd practiced something on convicts, and these people were petrified enough to make the cadets work hard to stay alert and quick.

Mary waited with the rest of the cadets until they were low enough to jump out.

The door of the cage opened and the convicts began to scatter like rats.

"Jump!"

They each jumped from the helicopter breaking out into a run.

Mary immediately ran off towards the trees with eight other cadets following her. She saw that it was easy to tell these people were criminals; several of them were trying to push others in the direct path of the drug-fueled rampage that was running down the beach their way.

Another helicopter was coming in, filled with third years who had the unfortunate job of dragging all the dead bodies to the incinerator. The dead had to be counted to make sure it matched up with the pulse readings on the tablet. Mary and Simon had this job during their third year, and it seemed like they'd dragged hundreds of executed convicts to the incinerator.

She heard convicts screaming as they were body slammed, their necks cracking behind her as they ran up to the trees. This was the first place they would go, thinking they could hide, thinking they could find something to defend themselves with. But they had nothing to defend themselves with. The cadets were far more prepared and much smarter. Why did they even try?

Mary and the others hid behind trees and waited, counting down, waiting until they heard the convicts were close enough. To herd them, cadets ran alongside a group of them, then more cadets would run up on the other side. It was distracting and terrifying to see black-eyed cadets with glowing throats and the convicts didn't know which side to look at, fearing an impending attack. They were so distracted that they forgot to look forward. That was when Mary and the others ran out, sprinting as fast as they could, slamming into them, and then snapping their necks. They'd practiced on pedophiles during their third year, learning how to hook their necks in their arms, just below the jawline until they heard the satisfying crack of bone.

"Fifty-two!" Dean Skinner said into a megaphone to let them know how many was left.

Mary noticed that some of the convicts were extremely agile and fast; but this was supposed to be a challenge after all. Sand crunched in her teeth as she ran past cadets choking some of the stronger ones that were fighting to keep their necks from being broken. She jumped over bodies after FDMs and an SK that had taken off down the beach, but they weren't running very fast. When they turned back to look at Mary gaining on them, three cadets came running out of the trees straight at them, taking them down, then breaking each of their necks.

Why did they even try to run? They were not going to escape.

"VCACs!" Someone shouted.

They were trying to actually run into the ocean as if they could swim away. Big mistake. Cadets went in after them, shoving them under the waves, holding down their heads so they would drown.

"Thirty-eight!"

Mary saw a lone SDM sprinting down the beach and she went after him. SDM had been tattooed in white to contrast with the deep brown of his skin. Mary jumped at his legs to bring him down, then hooked her elbow around his neck, but he was tough. Fighting her with everything he had in him. She was going to have to choke him. She flipped him over, shoving her knee into his chest, using all her weight to hold him down as she pressed down on his windpipe.

He looked malnourished, his cheeks and eyes were slightly hollowed, but he was putting up a good fight.

Then he tried to speak, choking out words as he pointed to her arm. "Sc…Scully…Scully!"

She loosened her grip. What did he just say? There was absolutely nothing on her or any of the cadets with their names.

He pointed at the tattoo on her arm again. "Scully…Dana Scully," he choked out.

She immediately took her hands away from his neck, and he began coughing violently.

"Dana….Dana Scully has that," he coughed out. She barely understood him. "I know her. I know Dana Scully!" Then he looked up at her with a sudden panic in his eyes.

"Emily? Are you Emily? Oh, God, did they send you to kill me?" He coughed again, holding up his hands. "It wasn't me! I wasn't the one! I swear to you it wasn't me!"

Mary didn't know what to say, she was starting to panic herself. How did he know her mother's name? And her grandmother? What didn't he do? She looked back at him, shaking her head. What was he talking about?

"No, you're not her, are you?" His eyes were wide, desperate, and filled with terror. "Are you her daughter? Are you Mary? You're Mary, aren't you?"

Mary just stared down at him, unable to move, unable to think, unable to speak. She looked around fearfully. There was no one else over here. How did he know her name?

"Listen to me! You have to let me go! They don't give us fair trials! Please let me go! I know your grandmother! I know Dana Scully!"

Mary didn't know what to do. The drugs were preventing her from thinking clearly. She couldn't get any words out of her mouth; they were clogging up in her brain.

"Let me go! Please! She'd want you to do this!"

Mary looked around again. She could hear cadets nearby and Dean Skinner calling out there were seventeen left, but there wasn't anyone over here.

"Please!"

She looked down at him pinned beneath her, then grabbed his hand, ripping the device out of his wrist. He yelped with pain as the staples popped out, blood trickling out of the wound. She got off him and stood up.

"Run," she said.

He looked up at her for a few seconds, hesitating as if this might be a trick.

"I said run!" She screamed and he immediately got up, stumbling into a sprint down the beach.

Mary watched him go, but not before noting the image and name on his shirt: a young woman named Erin Spender. She stared at the device in her hand until it was crushed, then tossed it into the ocean.

As she ran back down the beach, the magnitude of what she'd just done closed over her own throat, nearly choking the life out of her, taking her breath, stealing her heartbeat, unraveling a consequence that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

* * *

Mary wouldn't remember all of it later.

She wouldn't remember Dean Skinner announcing their time – twenty-one minutes and fifty-seven seconds – and how that was exactly one minute and three seconds faster than the last squad. She wouldn't remember the high-fives in the helicopter ride back as everyone celebrated completing their exam. She wouldn't remember the third years still on the beach as her group ascended, scrambling to get all the dead bodies to the incinerator before Brandon's wrathful winds showed up.

But she would remember the dread and horror she felt as the drugs withdrew from her veins. And she would remember looking over at Simon after they landed on the base, the concern on his face as he saw the terror on hers, slowly shaking her head in disbelief over what she'd done.

He came over to her, pulling her away from everyone else. They were all headed off to the auditorium to watch the one hundred year anniversary of the end of World War II being broadcast from the Center. The NAU didn't really want to do that; they hadn't been a part of that mess, but many citizens had ancestors that were in the war, so the tribute was mostly for them.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked her. "You look like you're going to be sick."

"I…I, um…I did something."

"What?"

"Or I didn't do something."

"What? What didn't you do?"

She looked up at him. She knew she could trust him. They'd shared so much in the last year, but this was bad. This was really, really bad.

"I let one of them go," she said quickly, then clamped her hands over her mouth as if she could stuff the words back in.

"You what?"

"He said he knows my grandmother! And he pointed to my tattoo and called me Emily. He said he wasn't the one that did it, and then he figured out who I was! He knew my name! What was he talking about? How could he know my name?" She was babbling now, her voice beginning to carry.

Simon pulled her into a doorway, safe from cameras and people. "Who was he? Did he say?"

"I'll go to prison!" She cried, the panic settling in all over her. "I'm eighteen now. I'll be a convict like them!"

"No, no you won't," Simon pulled her into his arms to calm her. "You're not going to prison. But they counted eighty-four bodies and it matched with the pulse readings. Are you sure another cadet didn't get him?"

"They could have miscounted. Brandon was coming."

"Well, maybe Brandon will get him. There's no way to get off that island and there's no shelter there."

Mary started to calm down a little. That was possible – he'd be killed in the hurricane or starve to death at the very least. There was nothing on that island that would provide long-term survival for anyone.

"Did you see the name of his victim?"

"Erin Spender. Have you ever heard that name?"

"No. Well, maybe. The last name sounds vaguely familiar. Have you?"

"No. Not at all."

Simon looked around. Everyone was in the auditorium right now. "I think we should go look him up. Find out who he is at least."

They snuck into one of the sergeant's lounges where they could use a laptop without the browser history being recorded or monitored too closely. They went on the inmate locator site first, narrowing the search by SDM, but that wasn't narrow enough. Then they tried narrowing by execution date, but it was still a lot of images to scroll though. Eventually Mary stopped at one, that hollow-cheeked face staring back at them, making her feel panicked again.

"Is that him?" Simon asked.

"Yeah."

"They don't put their names on here, do they?"

"No, but his Union ID number has the first three digits they give to Old Republicans."

Maybe he really did know her grandmother, then. Had he worked with her?

Mary copied the UID number and pasted it into the search box in the Old Republican registry. The face that appeared on the screen was far different than the one she'd seen on the beach.

It was a healthier looking face, but it was him. His stare could boil lava. He looked as if he was burning a hole right through his glasses and into their heads as they looked back at his brown eyes, cold and hard as stone, and his mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Alvin D. Kersh," Mary said. "He was in the FBI, but it doesn't say if he was an agent or not. He really does know my grandmother. Maybe your grandparents, too. Did they ever mention him?"

"No. He looks really mean, though. He looks like a murderer."

"And I let him go," Mary said, the dread starting to rise up in her again.

"Listen," he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "The hurricane got him, and even if it was a miscount, it doesn't matter. No one knows, okay? No one knows but you and me, and I would never let anyone drag you off to prison."

The sincerity in his eyes brought tears into hers. What would she do without him? She could see and feel how deeply he cared for her, and she cared the same for him. She couldn't imagine her life without him.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Simon."

"I don't know what I'd do without you either. You're not going to prison. Nothing is going to happen to you. The hurricane will kill him, okay?"

"Okay." She felt a little better. She was grateful she had him to depend on and to trust.

"There's, um, there's something I want to talk to you about," he said, pulling her up out of the chair, taking both her hands in his. "Not here, though. Later. Will you come find me at the graduation party? Or I'll come find you. There's something I want to ask you."

"What?"

He smiled, his green eyes sparkling with a secret. "You'll see."

She smiled back. What was he being so secretive about?

He pulled her back into his arms to kiss her. His kisses made her forget. It made her forget everything and everyone. There was only him; all she wanted, all she needed.

He pulled away, gazing intently into her eyes. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

They'd finally said it to each other and now they couldn't stop saying it. She still couldn't believe there was someone who felt this way about her. She couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

He looked around the lounge, then over at the couch in the corner. He nodded to it. "No one's here. Everyone's in the auditorium."

"Simon, we can't do that in here!" She felt her cheeks flushing at the thought. "Besides I've got sand all over me."

"I can help you get it off," he smiled, pulling her over. "Then I'll be all over you."

They'd crossed that line, too, finally. Over the summer, then they couldn't stop crossing it. Mary was worried it might change them, and they had to be very careful. Mary still hadn't told him about her family. She kept pushing it away every time it came into her head. But loving each other in that way just brought them closer. It deepened their love for each other. But anytime he said those things to her, she still blushed.

"No. Not here. Later."

"Okay." He kissed the top of her head, and they began to walk out. "You want to go see Samantha?"

"Yes," she smiled.

She quickly turned back to the laptop to close the browser. Alvin D. Kersh's face disappeared, and she hoped Hurricane Brandon would really make him disappear.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _2049_

 _East Region_

 _5:05pm_

When she opened the door, Gibson waited for the surprise at an unexpected visitor to morph into disbelief and astonishment.

"Gibson?!" Dana Scully said when she finally recognized him.

"Yup," he replied.

He was not at all the child chess prodigy that she remembered. Even though he didn't really need them anymore, he'd worn his glasses to help her recognize him. He was at least a foot taller than her now. She actually used to be taller than him. It was strange to look down at her rather than up.

She invited him in, and even though he knew what she looked like, it still amazed him that she hadn't aged at all. Her hair was longer and there was a little bit of white in it, but she was youthful and vibrant. Her skin almost glowed.

He explained to her how he found her, but that wasn't hard to figure out. Anyone could find her. She sat there staring at him, her thoughts flitting around so fast it was hard for him pin one down long enough to hear it. She was twisting and pulling nervously at the gold cross around her neck. She still wore that.

"You're so…you're just so…," she said, staring at him in utter shock.

"Grown up?"

"Yeah."

"I don't play chess anymore either. I can't hear thoughts as good as I used to, and it's not as much fun to play if I don't know I'm going to win."

"How old are you now?" She asked him. "You've got to be fifty or close to sixty, right?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I stopped counting."

"But you don't look…you look like you're…"

"I know. I'm frozen in time. Like you."

"What did they do to you?"

"We were literally frozen. It was pretty far north. Up near Greenland, I think."

"We?"

He explained to her that they'd been taken up into the Arctic, carefully eliminating names besides Marita Covarrubias. He wasn't here to tell her about all of that, and she might not be able to fully grasp what he'd really come to talk to her about if he did.

"It was a spaceship. An old one. If a spaceship can ever really be old. It was buried in the ice and we were frozen inside it."

"Cryogenically frozen?"

"No. Just frozen. They stuck something down our throats for nourishment and left us there. I was probably about thirty at the time."

He could hear in her thoughts a memory coming to the surface. Something similar had been done to her.

"And then, when all the whispering started about the Union, they took us out, and we were transported to Island 6 when it was still Jamaica. They didn't think the islands would join, but they did."

She stared at him for a minute. He could hear that she hadn't thought he'd died or gotten out before the transition. She'd simply forgotten about him.

"I don't know what we were frozen in or what they were doing exactly, but I've been like this ever since. I just…don't get old," he said to her.

"So, they just, they just did stuff to you for twenty years? You were just an experiment that whole time?"

"No. I got away sometimes. But they always found me. I think the longest I was ever able to evade them was about three or four years."

"And she was with you?"

"Yeah."

"What did they do to her? Besides freezing her?" She really didn't want to ask. She didn't want to have any sympathy for that woman.

"They did tests on her. Then they tried to burn her alive."

Her eyes widened with shock. "Why?"

"For helping Mulder. And you, too."

She had to hear that. He had to tell her that. Even if she still hated that woman, Scully needed to know what she was put through.

"And she saved me."

She didn't say anything. She just got up and started walking around the room. It was a nice room. She kept everything very neat. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere that he could see.

"They were going to dissect me, I guess. Get the parts of my brain that they wanted, give me a lobotomy, and then just leave me a vegetable there. I guess my brain was more valuable as an adult than it was as a kid. But she got me out before they could do it."

She still didn't respond, but he could hear the guilt coming from her now. Guilt about how she and Mulder had forgotten about him, and a little about not trying to help Marita. But they'd been trying to keep him from being executed. It made sense that had been the top priority at the time.

"But that's not why I'm here," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about Mary."

"How do you know about her?" There was a little bit of alarm in her face.

"Because she's in the Ceremonial Guard. She follows the SRP everywhere. And I follow her everywhere, too. I'm her aide. I keep thinking she'll make me Regional Secretary, but she hasn't done it yet."

"It's strange to hear you call her that."

"What? The SRP or Marita?

"Both."

She sat back down across from him, leaning in towards him. "How was she able to do that? How could she just run for president?"

"She just did. The Old Republic tortured her and tried to kill her. She was very sympathetic. People like that about her."

He could sense that this was still unfathomable to her. That Marita Covarrubias could be a political leader after who she'd worked for and be so well-received. And damn good at her job, too.

"How could you not know about it?" Gibson asked her. "How could you not know about her campaign or anything?"

"My network access is limited. The moon could blow up, and I wouldn't know."

So, she had no idea who the other presidents were. Especially who her granddaughter was now married to and creating a new hybrid race with.

"So, you probably know about Mary's parents then?" A dark cloud popped up in her head, a memory circling around like thick, black smoke.

"About William and Emily, yes."

"They made a mistake," she said quickly.

"I don't think Mary is a mistake."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. She's not. I didn't mean it that way. But William and Emily aren't like that anymore. They're not…it's not like that now."

He could hear that she only partially believed that, but it didn't really matter. Nothing could be done about the past now, and they probably didn't have that kind of relationship anyway. There would have been another Mary by now.

"What's William doing now?" He thought about the time he'd seen him with the Amish. He'd spoken to William before he left, and he was sure William still had no idea who he was.

"He's in the North Council. Policy Division. He was promoted to Section Chief last year."

She didn't sound very proud. She might as well of said he was a cracked out drug dealer.

He decided that now was the time to tell her, took a deep breath, and began the story; a carefully edited story that he'd rehearsed in his head on the train ride and a few days before. He cautiously avoided certain parts. She'd been an FBI agent, so he'd made sure there weren't any holes she could find. The point he wanted to drive home was that Mary and Hosteen were going to lose their children, and she needed to be willing to take some of them in.

He watched her face as he told her; shock, anger, and astonishment. She was yanking so hard at that gold cross he was afraid she was going to break it.

"How could she make Mary do that?!" She stood, outraged.

"She's not making her," Gibson emphasized. "Mary is a willing participant. She is quite literally the next Eve. And if you ever saw him, well…that's probably another reason she's doing this."

"Hosteen? You said his name is Hosteen?"

"Yes."

She was walking around the room again, trying to sort through her memories with that name. She had eighty-five years' worth of memories to go through now.

"She hasn't changed at all, has she?" Scully said after a time. "She's still manipulating people, isn't she?"

"I guess. But you knew this would happen. Colonization. This was inevitable."

She sat back down again, looking hopeless, looking upset. "Is this why she's been contacting me so much? Mary. Why she's been trying to talk to me? Has she been trying to tell me?"

"I don't know. I think she just wanted to know what happened between you and Marita."

"I need to talk to her. I need to see her."

"Don't tell her I was here. Don't let on that you know anything."

They sat in silence for awhile. Gibson didn't really know what to say to her. She seemed the same as she'd been the last time he'd seen her, but very defeated. He wasn't sure of what her reaction would be to all this, but the agent in her was gone. She really didn't have much to fight for anymore. She's completely powerless now.

"I did know this would happen one day," she said quietly. "I just didn't think it would be this way. Or my own granddaughter."

"She's both kinds. And he is, too. So, they're perfect for this."

"And there are people waiting? Do you know who they are?"

"No, not really. She's gotten really good at blocking things out so I can't hear them. But I think they've done this before. I think they've raised and taught children who were only one kind."

"Taught them to do what?" He could tell she already knew the answer. She just wanted him to say it.

"Take over the world, I guess."

She was looking around her house now, planning, thinking. "I'm going to have to move some things around, and I don't know what I'll do with them if I'm ever searched, but I don't want them to be taught that. I don't want them to be with those people. I want them to be with family."

"Did you ever get your pardon?"

She looked at him questioningly. "No. What pardon?"

The East Council must have put a hold on anything Avenham had tried to push through. It should have been approved by now.

"Mary tried to get you one. Mary talked to the SRP about it and she talked to Avenham."

"I doubt she actually talked to Avenham."

"No, she really did. I was there."

"I can't believe she's the SRP," she was shaking her head. "It's unreal."

"This is a different country now. She's a reminder to people of everything that was wrong with the old establishments."

"Except that she was involved with them."

He supposed the distrust and hatred wasn't really ever going to go away. There were probably things he didn't know and couldn't hear. There was probably more to the story than what he knew.

"You have to tell me as soon as she's pregnant," she said, sitting down next to him. "The second you know, send me a message. I'm going to need some time to prepare, and I'm going to need some help."

"Emily?"

"No. I'm not telling her this. She can't hide things very well, especially not from William. He can't know about this either. They'll have to know eventually, but not right now."

He couldn't really figure out why she didn't want to involve them. Those thoughts were muddier, unclear. But he could sense that William was surrounded by people who could make this much worse for her whole family if they knew.

Gibson stood up to leave. He'd told the SRP he would only be gone for the day so she wouldn't get too suspicious. He'd told her he needed a day off from watching out for Mary and Hosteen. It really had been exhausting. He felt like he could sleep for an entire week.

"Before I go, there's something else I wanted to tell you."

She stood up with him. "What?"

"Do you remember that other agent? I don't remember her name, but I told you that she was worried about you and you were worried about her? Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

"You really didn't have anything to be worried about. I knew why you were. But Mulder wasn't thinking about her. He was only thinking about you. He thought about you all the time. Everything he did was for you. He was really in love with you. I never understood why you were so worried about him and her. He loved you. Just you. Only you."

She looked up at him for a minute, blinking, tears coming into her eyes.

"I know it's a million years too late. I don't know why I didn't just tell you that. But sometimes I liked to play with people, like chess pieces."

She was still just looking at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. He hadn't meant to upset her.

"Anyway, I know he told you how he felt later. I just wanted to you know that."

She came over to him then and hugged him. He hadn't expected that, so he just stood there for a minute not knowing what to do. The top of her head barely came up to his chin. He slowly put his arms around her to hug her back. He really hadn't expected her to do that.

"I didn't meant to upset you."

"No…it's…thank you for telling me," she said as she pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.

He could see, hear, and feel that she really missed him. It didn't seem fair or right that she should have to live without him.

"Well, I should go. I let you know as soon as I know anything."

"Okay. Please watch out for her for me. I wish I could be there, but I can't."

"I'll guard her with my life," he promised.


	15. Chapter 15

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _4:30am_

When the alarm went off on Mary's phone, she nearly hurled it across the room.

No. Five more minutes. Five more hours. Five more weeks.

She was still exhausted from those four days and three very sleepless nights she'd spent in the West. But she absolutely did not regret a single second of that time she'd spent with Leonard. She'd had a hard time falling asleep these past few weeks from thinking about him.

She'd hug her pillows wishing it was him. She'd think about how he kissed the back of her neck and down her spine until her skin tingled as if it was really happening. And his hands.

Oh God, his hands.

All over her.

Touching her everywhere.

He was all she could think about. She could hardly concentrate on anything else. She wished so much he was here in her bed with her. He should be. He's her husband now. Did they really have to be apart like this?

She pulled the covers over her as she heard Dominique getting up and going into the bathroom. In the dark cave of her blankets, Mary imagined his face next to hers. The way he looked into her eyes as he parted her legs, right before he –

"Get up!" Dominque jumped up on the end of Mary's bed, hopping up and down. "We have to feed the alligators today."

"Oh, just give me a minute!"

Damn you, Dominique. And the alligators, too.

Mary grouchily flung the covers off her to get ready for their required two mile run. They had to do it every day and she and Dominique did theirs first thing in the morning before the humidity got too high.

"Why are you so snippy?" Dominique asked as Mary changed her clothes and quickly pulled back her hair into a French braid.

She couldn't say: Because I married Leonard Hosteen, then we spent three nights making love, and I can't live with him or see him when I want to and it's the absolute worst. What do you think about that?

"I'm sorry," Mary said instead. "I'm just really tired."

"What does she have you doing over in the West? She goes over there a lot."

What a question to be asked right now.

"I don't know. Just president stuff. Classified stuff. I don't really pay attention in the meetings."

She was also sullen because she wasn't pregnant. She thought for sure she would be, but she'd woken up one night to use the bathroom and came out disappointed. It started to concern her. She'd been so worried about what her children would be like, she hadn't considered she might not be able to have them at all. But the clinic would have told her that, right? If she had any fertility problems, then they would have said so and it would have been on her chart. She was beginning to become very attached to the idea of being a mother.

They would just have to try again. And again. And again. The thought of that elated her. The thought of seeing him made her feel so happy and alive, as if she'd just woken up out of something and could suddenly feel everything.

They did their run, then went back to their room to get ready to feed the alligators. It was part of the Ceremonial Guard's duties when the SRP wasn't traveling. Mary didn't have to stand around as much when the SRP was home.

They made sure they had their stun-guns and mace before they headed out to Lake Okeechobee where the alligators were bred. The South Region government leased the land from the Seminole-Creek Federation. The first SRP gave it all back because no one really wanted it anyway, and now they owned most of the area. The SRP's home was set up by the lake. She could walk out onto her balcony to see all her alligators she'd worked hard to create, but she kept Walter and Alex on the property.

Mary and Dominique carried crates full of snakes out onto the shore, stacking them up before they carried them up a bridge that spanned the width of the lake. Portions of it had a glass bottom so the SRP could take visitors out there to see the giant things swimming below the surface. They would dump the snakes down into the water so the alligators could rip them apart. The snakes were alive and some were captured in the wild. The alligators were fed rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and diamondbacks that were venom-less and defanged before they grew big enough to be transported out of the lake.

Mary could see aircraft hovering over the water in the hazy sunrise, releasing cranes that picked up anywhere from five to six thousand pounds of reptile. They were hauled on boats across the Gulf to Mobile Bay, Galveston Bay, and Laguna Madre. They hung from harnesses dangling from helicopters as they rode up the western panhandle to be let loose in bayous and swampy rivers. Guard members fired tranquilizers out of guns into their bellies so the alligators wouldn't move around so much as they were being relocated.

They were doing well at taking care of the python problem. Mary had told Samantha before she left the academy to watch out for the alligators because the new SRP had planned to create some that would eat her. Mary hadn't seen Samantha since then, and she hoped she hadn't been eaten. But it did seem like Samantha was clever enough to outsmart an alligator.

After they'd emptied several crates of snakes into the lake, they headed back to shower and get ready for breakfast. But Mary and Dominique got to breakfast late because they went into the chapel to pray. They did it very infrequently, always going when they felt it had been too long since the last time. They were both Catholic, but while Mary said her prayers in Spanish, Dominique did so in French Creole. They'd bring their rosaries and a crucifix to kneel in front of. Mary always said the last part of her prayer – to protect Leonard, bless their marriage, and bless them with healthy children – in Latin. Dominique didn't know Latin. Mary hadn't realized how much hiding all of this would affect her habits.

Mary already knew where she was going to be all day, but she checked the list of assignments after breakfast anyway. There was no reason for her to be with the SRP; she wasn't going anywhere. But she would be with her all day, regardless. Dominique was being sent to the coast again.

"Dammit! Why doesn't she make some kind of shark that eats all the garbage and sludge over there?" She said angrily. She was sent over to the coast quite a bit to help clean it.

"I think she's just trying to get it looking as nice as possible for when the West Council gets here."

"Oh, yeah!" Dominique said dreamily. "Hosteen's coming here. I _really_ hope I get to go when she takes them around the South."

Mary already knew she would be going. It wouldn't be a long tour since the South was such a mess. There weren't that many highlights.

"You're so lucky you got to see him so much," Dominique told her as they left the dining hall, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I wonder what he looks like naked."

Mary coughed at her bluntness. She could feel her cheeks getting red. She hated that she blushed so easily.

"I bet he sleeps naked. You think he does? I bet he does."

Mary cleared her throat, shaking her head. "I don't know. How would I know? I don't know. I mean, I don't know. Who knows?"

Dominique looked at her. "Geez. Just saying. Weirdo."

Mary sighed. She was really terrible at this. She might as well wear a sign around her neck.

"But I'm sure he does," Dominique continued. "I would love to find out what room he's in and like 'forget' where mine is, you know? Be all like: Oh, no I've lost my way, can't find my bed, but this one looks good!"

"Oh, um, I just remembered the thing!" Mary blurted out.

"Huh? What thing?"

"I mean, I left my thing in the…thing. I have to go to the thing." Mary quickly trotted away from Dominique before her face got any redder and more stupid words came out of her mouth.

"Okay, bye?" Dominique called after her.

She was not good at this. Not at all. How on earth was she going to continue hiding this? But she did smile to herself as she ran off. Because Dominique was right: he did sleep naked. Naked with her.

* * *

Mary spent the day with the SRP and Gibson as they tried to formulate some kind of plan for the next three or so weeks. Mary kept looking out of the window for the West Region red, but they wouldn't be there for another day. She thought they might come early. There was a lot of them coming this time – Leonard, plus his aides, plus As He Stands, plus several members of his Council. That meant a lot of West Guards were coming, too. Even though Mary was hoping Simon wouldn't be among them, he probably would be. She wasn't sure how she was going to manage that just yet.

She checked her phone for any messages from Leonard. He would send her things, through different numbers and an encrypted connection, but she knew it was him. It was mostly pictures. A cloud shaped like a heart. A picture inside the telescope where they'd first kissed. A Navajo love poem he'd translated into English for her. And strawberries. Lots of pictures of strawberries. The meaning of that between them and what it represented made her ache so much for him. They should be together all the time, and she couldn't stand being away from him. They were married. This really wasn't fair.

She'd messaged him about her disappointing discovery, but he didn't seem concerned at all. He assured her they had plenty of time, and he enjoyed their attempts. She was glad he wasn't upset at her or anything, but she didn't really think he would be. They did have plenty of time. He was supportive and kind, not like the SRP.

Mary had told the SRP only recently about it. Mary had gotten so aggravated at her staring at her stomach as if it would grow right in front of her eyes that she finally snapped at her that she wasn't pregnant and to stop looking at her like that.

She'd looked very dismayed, but quickly recovered. "Well, we're just going to have to find a lot of creative time for you and him when he gets here, won't we?"

Mary didn't like how she said that. It felt intrusive and laced with something sordid. Why did she have to be a part of this? Mary wasn't sure if she should be grateful to her for protecting them or irritated at her for being so invasive. This was a very personal thing; between her and him. Why did the South Region President have to be involved? And weird, creepy Gibson, too?

They had a floor plan of the house out on a table. They'd been staring at it and discussing it for a couple of hours now. The house was a relic of old Floridian wealth. They weren't really sure who had owned it before, but they must have been very affluent and very paranoid. There were several panic rooms installed and they'd started building what looked like a luxury bomb shelter underneath, layering the walls with concrete, stone, and thick steel panels to combat the high water table. Whoever it was, they must have been one of many billionaires that left when the transition started, fearing the NAU tax code would not be so easy to get around.

"We should just close this part off right here," the SRP was saying. "This whole section. That can be for Hosteen, As He Stands, Mary, and you."

"Right. And then we should just put up a sign on the stairs that lets everyone know what's going on, just in case they don't get it," Gibson said.

"Okay, fine! We are all your chess pieces. _You_ move us around."

Mary had noticed some tension between them recently. She wasn't sure why it was there. It seemed like they'd fought about something and the fight was still going on.

"A female South Guard, not in the dorms by the way, but in here, just a few rooms down from the WRP and the Regional Secretary makes no sense!" Gibson said. "There will need to be West Guard with them. The rest of them can stay at the Presidential Hotel with the Councilmembers, but he has to have some of them here. That's the thing. That's why they are here. To _guard_ him!"

"You make it sound like this is a dangerous place with assassins running up and down the beaches! Everyone likes him and they like me, too! He doesn't need that much protection!"

"It doesn't matter! It's protocol! There's a method to this!"

"I don't care about the protocol!"

Mary had never seen them like this. She got the sense that this wasn't really the argument. They were fighting about something else, but she didn't know what. It also irritated her that they talked about her like she wasn't even standing here.

She couldn't stay in the dormitory while Leonard was here. It was too much trouble getting her in and out with the metal disk being scanned each time, and Dominique would definitely notice. And they certainly couldn't sneak him in. Dominique would more than notice that. When the SRP sent the list of Guard members she needed to Lieutenant Skinner she'd said she needed Mary and a couple others close by for all the tours and to accompany her to and from meetings with her Council. It really didn't make that much sense, but Lieutenant Skinner had approved it anyway. Now, they were trying to figure out where everyone would sleep – as if Mary and Leonard would actually be sleeping.

The WRP usually stayed in the Presidential Hotel, but he needed to be close to Mary, which meant As He Stands would need to be here, plus West Guard for their personal security. Also problematic was the SRP's staff. Her household staff was amiable, but absolutely none of them would hesitate to report something to the media if they saw it. They were sworn in to serve her, not Leonard Hosteen and Mary Scully.

"Let's just take this entire back section here and close it off," Gibson said, drawing an imaginary square over the floor plan with his finger. "Okay? No staff. Just South Guard on this side, and the West people on this side. I think that's enough space where no one would think anything was going on. Alright? How about that?"

The SRP was looking at him, her eyes blazing.

What the hell happened between them? Mary really didn't think planning something like this would be that hard, and she really didn't care how it was done as long as she could be with him. Wasn't that the point?

"No staff? Oh, that isn't suspicious at all! Just tell them that this whole part of the house is off limits for a month! _That_ makes no sense!"

"Just put me in a freaking closet!" Mary interjected. "It doesn't matter. I won't be in there anyway."

"We're government, Mary," Gibson said to her gently, the harshness gone from his voice. "Everything we do is public property. The government is obligated to give the people transparency." Then he looked back over at the SRP, the harshness returning to his voice. "Like make sure nothing we do appears underhanded or corrupt."

"He's right, Mary," she said tersely, staring him down. "Like take a day off not report where you've been!"

"Yes, that's right, Mary! Or make arrangements with people who don't work for you or the government!"

Mary just stared at them, taken aback. What is wrong with them? She'd never seen them argue like this, and she'd certainly never heard Gibson talk like this to the SRP or anyone. What arrangements? What were they talking about?

"I'm going to go take Walter and Alex to their pond," the SRP said coldly.

Gibson didn't answer, and she left.

It wasn't really a pond. There were three swimming pools on the grounds. An infinity pool that over looked the lake, an indoor pool, and an outdoor pool that the SRP had drained and remodeled into an artificial pond-looking structure.

Mary waited until she left and looked over at Gibson. "What happened?"

He looked at her like he just remembered she was still here. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

He gave her a half smile, then continued studying the floor plan.

Mary didn't know exactly why, but the way he said that made her think it was indeed something she should worry about.

* * *

When the West arrived, President and Council, the media was all around; flying over in drones and following along behind the motorcade as it paraded down Interstate 95, stopping traffic for miles in both directions. They'd been tipped off this had something to do with Hawaii, and every network had an "expert" or an ex-Union employee talking for hours about the necessity or liability of the Hawaiian islands as if they were the ones with all the inside information; slamming their fists on podiums and talking over each other in frenzied debates as Pearl Harbor was brought up and they hypothesized that Japan would use the volcanoes as a geological weapon.

Gibson watched as the Councilmembers exited their vehicles one by one. Hosteen's Council was fairly large, but he'd only brought about one quarter of them. And they were all Tribal Party, split between traditionalists and modernists. It was easy to tell who was on each side.

Some were dressed in the traditional attire of their tribe, some were in a mixture of traditional and modern, and some were not at all adorned in any kind of tribal clothing or jewelry. And they were all very intimidating, a multi-ethnic blend of men and women with stern faces, glancing around with disinterest at the SRP's estate. They were all business all the time.

The SRP had a string quartet playing and a hologram of Leontyne Price performing as her staff served them drinks when they arrived. On one of the larger televisions was live coverage of Avenham's trial. There were sober comments and head-shaking going on around the room. It was very important to all of them to know how this turned out. If Avenham was impeached, then there would only be three until a suitable replacement was found for the next election.

Gibson was only partly paying attention to it. Avenham's lawyers had made him stop talking and let them take over. When the cameras panned over to them, he could see Avenham sitting there, a hat on his head with green bunny ears sticking up. Sometimes he tried to talk anyway, and one of his lawyers would shush him. The alleged wife with the alleged children wasn't there, but her representatives were with sworn statements from them. Gibson was sure it wasn't real. Some random woman had been coerced into this, and they'd probably found foster children to pretend Avenham was their father. Everyone in the NAU knew this, but no one was going to probe too deeply into this investigation. The point was to get him out of office.

Gibson was also avoiding the SRP. He didn't want anyone to see the tension between them. She'd asked him where he'd gone, and he'd lied and said he went to the Center. She kept asking questions about what he did there, trying to trip him up, and it angered him. She had no reason to distrust him. He'd never left her side since she saved him, and even though he really had deceived her this time, it infuriated him that she would drill him about where he'd been. It was the principle of it. So, the argument got out of control when he confronted her about the army of strangers she'd enlisted to take Mary's and Hosteen's children. And, like she always did, she reminded him that had she not saved him, he'd be dead or a lobotomized zombie right now. Then he'd cruelly thrown the whole Emily thing in her face, which he did feel guilty about now. He shouldn't have done that, but he felt like it had been essential to secretly visit Dana Scully. These children were her descendants. It was cold-hearted and completely unnecessary to take them away from their family.

He knew Mary wasn't pregnant yet, but she was going to be. Most definitely after the numerous liaisons planned between her and Hosteen in the coming weeks. Gibson had messaged Scully as soon as he found out Mary wasn't, and Scully told him she'd found some help. She didn't say who, and the only person he could think of was Monica Reyes. She lived in the West. That might work. That made sense. If some of Mary's and Hosteen's children stayed with her, then it would keep Scully out of trouble for a little while and Mary and Hosteen could see them. But there was a problem with that – that's Simon Doggett's family. He didn't know if Scully or Reyes knew about Mary and Simon and he didn't want to ask. He was going to have to find out who was helping Scully with this, but he didn't want it to appear he didn't trust her judgement. Maybe Monica Reyes would move from the West to the East and they would both take care of the children. Maybe Scully would give him more detail once Mary was actually expecting.

Gibson was looking around the room to see if Hosteen and As He Stands was gone, then went over to Mary standing against the wall.

"There's a situation out by the lake," he said hastily, even though no one was paying attention.

"What?" She asked him, as he took her arm, leading her out of the room, into the back part of the house, and out into the yard.

There was a garden back there with walking paths shaded with Palmettos, lined with Canna Lilies, Irises, and Goldenrod. There was a stone wall around the circumference that circled in ferns and an artificial creek that fed into Walter's and Alex's pond.

Mary stared at him questioningly as he led her around the paths until he gave her a knowing look. She was surprised. She didn't think she'd get to see Hosteen until later that night. Her eyes lit up, looking around for him, until they rounded a corner and there he was, waiting for her, As He Stands off to the side.

She shoved her gun at Gibson and they ran over to each other, Mary jumping up in his arms. It was like they hadn't seen each other in decades.

Gibson turned his face away from all the kissing and sentimental whispering, looking over at As He Stands. He shrugged and Gibson shrugged back. It was a good thing that the first two felt this way about each other, but he didn't want to have to see it or listen to it all the time. He guessed As He Stands didn't either.

When Gibson looked back over at them, Mary was unbuttoning her blazer and Hosteen was lifting her up on the stone wall, pushing up her skirt; kissing each other breathlessly, passionately.

Oh, God, are they really going to start that with him standing right here?!

Gibson turned and walked away, feeling his face burn, still holding Mary's gun, As He Stands following right along with the same look of irritation. They really just didn't care at all, did they? They were completely oblivious to their surroundings, but Gibson supposed that's what he and As He Stands was there for. But still, couldn't they wait just a couple more hours? And not be outside?

"There's a window open up there," As He Stands said, nodding to a window on the third floor that overlooked the gardens.

Gibson looked up at it puzzled. Why was that open?

He set down Mary's gun and went into the house and up the stairs, but as he ascended he could hear someone close by; he could hear their thoughts. His heart began to pound and he began to panic a little as he raced up the stairs to get up to the window first.

Gibson had closed the window and pulled the curtains over it just before Simon Doggett rounded the corner and came barreling down the hall straight towards him.

"I heard yelling down here," Simon said, looking at Gibson accusingly.

But Gibson could hear in his head that wasn't all he thought he'd heard: he'd thought he heard Mary. Gibson could not let him see that was indeed Mary he'd heard. And she wasn't exactly yelling.

"Alligators," Gibson blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "It was the alligators." He cringed on the inside. Is that the best he could come up with?

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Alligators don't yell."

"Well, the ones here do. Because they're so, you know, big."

Simon continued to stare at him. He had very intense eyes, and there seemed to be a bit of melancholy in them. They were both about the same height, but Simon could snap trees in half with those arms.

Right then, Gibson didn't care that Simon was thinking he was an idiot and didn't really believe him. He just wanted him to get the hell away from this window. Now.

After a minute, a smile broke out on Simon's face, changing the intensity in his eyes into something softer. "Whatever you say, buddy." He slapped Gibson's shoulder, then walked off down the hallway.

Buddy?

Gibson wondered what Mary had liked about him as he watched Simon walk off. He was attractive, but he was much too intense and brusque. And what was he doing down here, anyway? They'd sectioned off this part of the house. Simon wasn't staying here. He was staying at the Presidential Hotel, so what reason would he have for even coming back here?

Gibson turned back to the window and opened the curtains a little. He could see the top of Mary's head, glossy red hair in the waning sunlight; strands of it had come out of her bun, falling all around her face. She was on top of Hosteen now, who was laying in the grass, both of them still partially clothed. He could see the tops of her thighs as she rocked her hips against him.

He really shouldn't be looking at her like this.

But he couldn't take his eyes away from her. What it must be like to be this immersed in someone else that you forget everything around you. You forget your surroundings and can only see the person you love. Gibson didn't know what this was like, and he'd had to accept he never would know. He hadn't told Mary that, like the SRP, he'd also had to accept a life of loneliness and solitude. That time for him has also passed. But it wasn't envy he felt as he looked down at her. It was something else; something he didn't want to feel.

He could see As He Stands behind the stone wall, looking mad as a wet hen, earbuds stuffed in his ears as he looked through his tablet so he wouldn't have to listen to them. Mary and Hosteen were completely lost in each other, but this was how it should be. It would have been a disaster had they not liked each other. They didn't care about anything else.

He turned away from the window, and looked up and down the hallway for anyone else. He sighed and went back down the stairs, back outside to watch out for her; to guard her with his life, as he'd promised.


	16. Chapter 16

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2045_

 _8:33pm_

Mary was looking all around for Simon at the graduation party. She'd gotten there later than she'd planned. She'd needed considerable time to recalibrate from earlier.

She'd checked Hurricane Brandon's path several times. It had ripped right through the islands before cutting a wide arc out from the east coast and was now headed north, downgraded to a Category 2. It had gone right through Island 4. There was no way anyone could have survived that.

Or so she hoped.

In the slight chance that Alvin D. Kersh did survive, he was going to die there anyway. There was no way off and swimming to the closest island would exhaust him enough to make him drown. She'd zoomed into the satellite image just to be sure. She had all the possibilities written out in her head, and they all came to the same conclusion: he was a dead man. She just had to stop thinking about it, but it did bother her that he knew her mother's name and hers. How well did he know her grandmother? The only way he would have known about them is if she'd told him, right? How else would he or anyone know?

When Mary finally did get to the party, she still didn't know what Simon wanted to talk to her about, but she'd tried to look as pretty as she could. She wore a dress. Simon had never really seen her in a dress before. She only had two and she'd chosen the long one, a deep purple with skinny straps over her shoulders and a slight dip in the back. She'd also worn her hair down, thinking he'd probably never seen her with it all the way down. She smiled half-heartedly at the image of herself in the mirror, thinking this would just have to do. But right before she left her room, she ran back in and put on mascara and lip gloss for good measure.

After searching for him for several minutes around the banquet hall, she decided to go over to the gazebo, thinking he was there waiting on her. But when she turned around, there he was, right behind her. Her heart skipped a beat and her face flushed as she looked at him.

He was all dressed up. Wearing a tie and everything. She'd never seen him like that, and judging by the look on his face he was having the same reaction at seeing her.

"Wow," he said, shyness coming into his eyes as he looked her over.

"Yeah," she agreed, suddenly feeling shy herself as she looked at him.

He seemed to forget where they were, walking up to her, putting his arms around her the way he did right before he kissed her.

"You're absolutely breath-taking," he said softly. "Like an angel or something."

She smiled up at him. She never bothered to wear blush. She never needed it.

"I really want to kiss you," he whispered to her, looking around.

"Me, too," she whispered back.

They technically could. Their academy career was over now, but there was something nice about being so secretive. The only other person that Mary had told about them was Dominique. She was sure his roommate knew, too, but no one else did. The carelessness of it was exciting. It seemed like if everyone knew, then it wouldn't be as special.

He took her hand and walked quickly with her out to the gazebo. When they got there, he immediately wrapped her up in his arms kissing her deeply, holding her tightly against him. She liked to feel him against her like that, with and without his clothes; and the way he kissed her, the way he touched her, made her limbs feel rubbery and unsteady. How had she gotten so lucky? How was it possible that she was loved so much by someone like him?

He reluctantly pulled away from her after a few minutes. She could tell there was something else on his mind, but he seemed to be having trouble switching gears.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" She reminded him.

"Yeah," he laughed. "I, um...that just made me forget everything."

She laughed, too, as he gathered his thoughts, his face becoming more serious.

"So, um…I talked to my dad last week. He said my grandmother's doctor found a tumor in her lungs."

"What?" Mary was shocked. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's a big one, too. They think it's been there for a while."

"Maybe it will just disappear like last time."

"Maybe. But I don't know. I mean, it's been there just growing for a while now. My dad said she'd felt fine, but then started having trouble breathing, so that's why she went."

"I'm so sorry, Simon," she said as they sat down. She knew he didn't deal with the deaths of his loved ones very well.

"Yeah. I mean, she's eighty-something, so…," he shrugged.

"Well, they have those shots that can kill cancer cells. It works for a lot of people."

He nodded, looking down. In the shade of the shelter, she couldn't tell if he was crying or not. She really hoped his grandmother wouldn't die of lung cancer and that it would go away like last time. Ever since Mary found out she'd been at her baptism, she'd felt a little connection to her.

"So, that," Simon continued. "Made me start to think about stuff. A lot of stuff. You and me mostly."

He paused like he was gathering up his courage.

"I don't have a ring right now. I'll get you one when I can, but…" He paused again and Mary felt like her heart was pounding so hard he could see it through her dress.

"I'm just…I'm so in love with you, Mary. I really am. And it just seems right. With our families and everything. It just feels right that we should be together. It feels right that we should spend our lives together."

Mary stared at him, completely speechless.

"What I'm saying is, I want to marry you. I want to have a family with you. I want to see you in the morning when I wake up and right before I go to sleep. I am absolutely positive that there will never be anyone I'll love as much as I love you. And it just seems right, don't you think? It's like this was just supposed to happen. Exactly like this. It's like, perfect, you know?"

Mary couldn't answer him. The words had wedged themselves somewhere in between her brain and her mouth.

"I don't think I'm doing this right," he said, looking worried at her silence. "I had it all planned out, everything I wanted to say, but it's not coming out the way I wanted it to."

Mary still couldn't talk. She was thinking about her father, her half-siblings, and Madison. The image of them was drowning out her ability to speak. All their faces swirling together like finger-paints. Faces she would have to introduce him to. Faces that would probably do everything they could to make sure Simon knew what she was and how she came into this world.

"So," he said, getting down on one knee in front of her. "Will you marry me?"

All Mary could do was sit there. Silent. Staring down at him as she thought about his wish to have a family. About how her father was bound to contact her again at some point. About giving birth to a malformed fetus that looked like the monsters in some of the stories she'd read. About what he would say to her when she had to explain it to him.

She watched his face fall at her lack of response, and she knew how he was taking it. Talk, she told herself. Say something! But nothing was coming out. She was literally speechless.

"Well," he stood back up after a minute or so, looking slightly humiliated and confused. "You don't have to answer me right now. I know it's really sudden."

But it wasn't sudden. Mary knew it, and he knew it. Isn't this where it was going? Wasn't this going to happen sooner or later? Why hadn't she been paying attention? She shouldn't have let it get this far, but she loved him. She didn't want to be without him. She wanted to cling to anyone that loved her and showed her any attention. What else could she have done?

"You can just tell me later. Or tomorrow if you need some time."

Oh no. He looked so hurt and let-down. And yet, she continued to just sit there with nothing to say.

Say something, Mary! Say something to him!

But she couldn't. It was starting to make her panic. She can't just sit here and say nothing. Speak!

Finally, she nodded at him, feeling guilty and terrible about how he looked. But she couldn't say it. She couldn't say yes.

He just stood there for a minute, waiting, and she turned away from him, not wanting to see the look on his face.

"Okay, well…I guess I'll see you later." He kissed her cheek and quietly walked away.

She sat there alone for a while, replaying what just happened, and then ran off looking for Dominique. When she found her, she pulled her away from the group she was talking to.

"Simon just asked me to marry him." She didn't like how her voice sounded when she said it. It wasn't a happy voice.

"He what?!"

"He asked me to marry him."

Dominique jumped up and down, waving her hands in front of her face. "Oh my God! That's so amazing! Can I be a bridesmaid? Please let me be a bridesmaid!"

Mary didn't say anything, hanging her head. Dominique's excitement made her feel even worse.

"Wait," Dominique said, noticing Mary's expression. "You said yes, right?"

Mary looked at her, then back down again.

"Right?"

"No. Well, I didn't really say anything."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just didn't."

"You didn't tell him yes?"

"No." Mary felt awful, and even worse that she couldn't really explain it.

"I mean, you love him, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, there you go. There's your yes."

Mary looked at Dominique for a minute, the simplicity of it beginning to click in her head.

Yes. Yes, she loved him and he loved her. That's all that really mattered, didn't it? She didn't have to tell him right now, and maybe they could just elope. They could go to the Center and find Union clergy to marry them. She didn't need a big wedding or anything. She wouldn't have told her father, Madison, Ephraim, or Eve anyway. And she could just say Esther was an old friend. Esther would go along with it. And they'd live in the West probably so he could be close to his family. She didn't really need to be near hers. Maybe her mother and grandmother could come stay with them at some point. There was still time to put it off, and she could see a doctor about preventing pregnancy until she told him. She nodded to herself. Yes. Yes, it would be okay. She didn't have to think about all that right now or even tell him right now. She could put it off for a while still.

"Yes," Mary said. "My answer is yes."

"Well, don't tell me!" Dominique replied.

"Okay," Mary said, looking around. "I need to go find him."

"Yes. Go!"

Mary ran off to look for him. Yes. She hadn't been sure, but she was sure now. Yes, she would marry him, and they would be happy. It would all work out just fine.

But Mary couldn't find him.

She looked around for about an hour, going back to the gazebo, and even out to the marshes where they went to see Samantha, but he wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone back to his room, and she didn't want to send him a text. This deserved a face-to-face answer.

Before Mary went to bed, she put the X up, thinking he would see it, but there were no rocks at her window. She would just tell him tomorrow. He'd said that she could tell him tomorrow. She should probably find him before commencement, though, so neither of them would have to wait through it.

In the morning, she and Dominique got up early and got ready. They'd pressed their bright white shirts so there were creases in the sleeves. They'd polished their shoes and painted their toenails even though no one would see them. Mary helped Dominique zip up the green pencil skirt the girls had to wear.

"This is some sexist shit," Dominique grumbled, looking down at it.

"I think it looks nice," Mary said.

"Did you tell him?"

"No. I couldn't find him last night. I'll tell him before we line up."

They pinned their badges and medals on each other, then took turns fixing each other's hair. Mary braided Dominique's in the fanciest braid she knew that her mother had taught her, a four-strand braid that she angled diagonally so the end of it fell over Dominique's shoulder. But her hands were shaking with impatience and she had to redo the last part a couple of times. Mary tried to sit still as Dominique ran a flat iron through the stubborn waves at the back of her head.

They were watching the inaugural speech of the new SRP on the TV in their room, but Mary couldn't focus on it.

"She has weird eyes," Dominique noted as she ran a brush through Mary's hair.

"She does," Mary agreed, although she really wasn't paying attention.

Mary checked the time on her phone. She was going to have to make this quick. There wasn't much time before they needed to line up.

As soon as she was ready, she ran out of the dorm to find him. It made her feel horrid and ashamed when she thought of the hurt expression on his face. But she knew her answer would change that. She'd just needed to think about it some more, and she was glad she'd told Dominique. That helped.

She went out into the quad where some of the male cadets were gathering, looking all around for him, but he wasn't there. She kept looking all the way up until they needed to line up to go into the auditorium. Sergeants walked quickly up and down the lines, scanning the disks, and making sure they were dressed properly. Once they were at attention, she couldn't turn her head, but she moved her eyes around to look for him. Where was he?

Once inside and seated on the stage, Mary saw him sitting with the rest of the D's over on the other side, near the front. She leaned forward, hoping she could catch his eye, but he didn't turn back to look for her.

They went up one by one to get their medals and diplomas, and Mary turned back to look at him when she received hers, almost forgetting to shake Dean Skinner's hand, but there were other cadets sitting in front of him and she couldn't see him. At the end, when they were announced as graduates, everyone flipped their medals over and stood to leave the stage. Mary waited over to the side for him to walk by, but he never did.

She was going to walk out into the audience as everyone stood up, but family members holding up phones to proudly record and photograph their sons and daughters blocked her view, and then her mother and grandmother came over to her. She was distracted by the tension between all of them and momentarily forgot about looking for Simon.

Later, after her mother, grandmother, and Esther left, telling her they'd be back in the morning to help her move out of the dorm, Mary went over to the boys' dorm and waited for him to either go in or come out.

But he didn't go in or come out. Where was he?

Finally, when a couple of cadets did come out she asked them if Cadet Doggett was in his room, but they told her he'd moved out already.

She was stunned. Already? That fast? Why hadn't she seen him?

She stood there for a while anyway, checking her phone for messages from him, maybe explaining why he'd left so soon. She was starting to worry. Was his grandmother that bad off? Maybe that's why he'd left without telling her. Maybe she was really sick, and he wanted to go see her. But wouldn't her grandmother have known that, too? They were friends after all.

She put up the X one last time before going to bed, and tossed and turned all night, thinking every little sound was the click of a rock at her window. She didn't sleep at all, and when her mother showed up in the morning, she was anxious and exhausted. She decided to send him a text, asking him where he was and telling him that she wanted to talk to him.

She never got an answer.

When the car was all packed up, she told her mother she needed to get something from another building, and ran down to the gazebo, then out of the gate into the marshes. He wasn't down there. She called for Samantha to tell her goodbye, but her voice was shaking. Where was he? Why isn't he answering her?

Samantha coiled up behind Mary, laying her head on Mary's shoulder as the tears started falling down her cheeks. Samantha could tell she was upset. Mary tearfully told her about the alligators the new SRP was going to create, and promised to come back to see her when she could, but her tears were not over Samantha. Simon would not just leave and not tell her goodbye or explain anything, would he?

During the car ride back home, Mary replayed the previous evening's events in her head. She hadn't misunderstood him, and he said she could tell him later. Later had come, and she had an answer for him now. It couldn't be that he was purposely ignoring her, could it? He wouldn't do that to her, would he?

She sent text after text, called and called, but there was no response at all. It was starting to make her feel crazy. She started questioning what was between them, and thinking all sorts of crazy things had happened. Was he sick? Did they get into a car accident? Had his grandmother died suddenly? Wouldn't her grandmother have known about that, though, and told her? She thought of anything that would be preventing him from contacting her: he lost his phone, there was a train crash on the way back to the West, his grandmother died, his father died, he was sick, he was injured in a car wreck. Then she started to worry that maybe someone had told him about her family. But who would have done that? Did he know and that's why he wasn't talking to her? He wouldn't just disappear on her without a good reason. Would he?

But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a year. Each attempt she made to reach out to him was met with a giant black hole of nothing. She checked the obituaries on the West news sites every day. She searched for him on the academy's alumni social media page, but he was nowhere and he wasn't responding to her at all. The panic began to transform into depression as she realized that he wasn't going to answer her or respond to her. He was just gone. Done with her, shutting her out.

But wasn't this how it always went with her? The same story each and every time? People always lost interest in her and ignored her, dropping her from their lives in the blink of an eye. Why would he be any different? She said it to herself as she lay in her bed one afternoon, unable to get up, unable to do anything but lay there in misery. Of course this was happening. How could she expect anything else? He'd found a normal, pretty girl to love and marry. Why would anyone want to be with her – a filthy inbred, an inhuman freak that shouldn't have been born to begin with? She buried herself in her blankets, half hoping they would smother her, and she wouldn't have to live with the stabbing pain of her broken heart anymore.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _1:47am_

His head was in her lap and she was stroking his hair. Mary loved Leonard's hair. She loved to tangle her fingers in it and she loved how it tickled her skin. He was staring up at her as they soaked in the afterglow; as she gently brushed strands away from the sweat on his face.

He liked to take his time with her when they were completely alone and had hours to fill. He would undress her slowly and carefully, kissing each patch of skin as it was exposed. He liked to kiss her neck until he found the spot where she liked to be kissed the most, lingering there until she was breathless.

The night before, he'd taken her outside. It was really late or really early, depending on how one looked at it. She didn't see Gibson or As He Stands anywhere, but she was sure they were around. He brought her over to a patch of grass where there were blankets all set out, telling her he wanted to make love to her under the stars. He'd lain her on her back so she could look up at the sky. She was sure she couldn't see the star named Mary Scully without a telescope, but she liked to think it was out among the twinkling dots above them. She lay there with him afterwards, her legs all tangled up in his, looking into his eyes and up at the sky, thinking about how similar it was. Did he see the same thing when he looked at her?

"Are you happy with me?" He asked her now, gazing up at her.

"Yes. Are you?"

"The happiest I've ever been."

She smiled. Sometimes she worried she was going to wake up and find that this had all been a long, epic dream or something. And if it was, she should enjoy it while it lasted; completely submerge herself in every moment, just in case those moments came to an end. She hoped so much that they never would.

Mary slid her fingertips over the tattoos on his chest. "What do they mean?"

"That's my name in Navajo," he replied, pointing to one. "And that's my mother's name. And that one is my father's."

"You put your mother's name?"

"Yeah. She'll always be my mother, even though she left us."

"You really don't remember her?"

"No. Sometimes I'll have dreams about a woman picking me up when I was little. I can't be sure if it's her or my grandmother, though."

Mary gently lifted his head off her lap and slid down next to him, draping her arms and legs around him. He turned towards her to kiss her, and she felt a flame of desire heat up inside her. She had never wanted someone so much before. She always wanted more. Who needs sleep?

"You really don't remember your father?" He asked her.

"No," Mary lied. Oddly enough, she didn't feel guilty about it anymore. It seemed like a necessary lie now. It was a good thing they couldn't hear each other's thoughts, although she was sure they would be able to hear their children's.

"Strange how we both have a parent like that, isn't it?" He said to her.

"It is, but at least we both know what it's like to be abandoned. So we don't make that mistake with our own."

He nodded his agreement and they were quiet for a time. She never felt uncomfortable when they were quiet like this. She liked it. She liked to feel his skin against hers, the warmth of him, and the sound of his breath. He made her feel like there was nothing at all to fear in this world. Or out of it.

"When you were little," she began, laying her head on his chest. "Did you ever see…I don't know what they were, but they didn't have eyes or mouths. They were –"

"Sewn shut?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I remember them. I saw them all the way up until I was about ten. Then I never saw them again. I told my dad about them, and my grandparents did some kind of ceremony. Back then, I thought all that stuff was pointless, but it seemed to work. They never came back."

"I think I was about ten, too. What did they mean when they said take us home? What's home?"

"I don't know. Definitely not here."

"You don't think they'll come back, do you? For our children?"

"If neither of us have seen them for this long, I doubt they exist at all now."

"What if they do?"

He put his arms around her and tilted her chin up to look at him. "We'll keep them safe. I know that we can."

"How can we?" She had been worried about that, and now that they were talking about it, the worry was streaming in so fast it made her dizzy. "If I'm in the South, and you're there. Where will they live? How will we be able to see them and take care of them?"

"I've been thinking about that, too." He turned so he was on his side, facing her. "Do you like it there? The West?"

"Yes."

"Does your contract explicitly say you have to stay in the South?"

Mary thought about it for a minute. She really hadn't read it too carefully at the time. She hadn't really cared what all the stipulations were back then. She'd just come out of a deep depression and needed something to occupy her, so she'd chosen the Guard. Why not? She had plenty of military training after all.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Most of them don't dictate that a Guard member must stay in the originating Region. The agreements are meant to be with the NAU, not a specific Region. Maybe you can be transferred to the West Guard."

Mary's heart thumped with excitement at the thought of being there and close to him. That was a good solution, and it made the most sense. She could just be transferred. That was perfect, and she wouldn't have to deal with the SRP or Gibson much anymore.

But she stopped feeling excited when she remembered who else was in the West Guard. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach whenever she thought of Simon. She'd been lucky to avoid him so far, almost too lucky, as if everything was scripted again, and people were moving around just so they wouldn't see each other. But she couldn't let that stop her from seeing her own children. Maybe he could be transferred, too.

"I'll look at my contract again," she said. "I'd love to live there. Maybe I could bring my mother and grandmother, too. Maybe our children could live with them."

He smiled at her, kissing the tip of her nose. "I'd love to meet them. Do you think they'll like me?"

"Of course. My mother might be a little disappointed you're not Catholic, though."

He laughed. "Are you disappointed?"

"No," she laughed, too. "Not at all. I love you just how you are."

"And I love you just how you are."

When he said those things to her it warmed her soul, almost making her cry. No one had ever said that to her before. She tried not to think about how he really didn't know how she was, and instead focus on what he did know and loved anyway. How was this really her life right now? She reached out to stroke his face to make sure he was real, to make sure this entire scene was real, because sometimes it seemed like it was taking place in a separate reality that she'd accidentally slipped into and could be pulled out of suddenly.

"What are you thinking?" He asked her.

Instead of answering, she wrapped herself around him, kissing him, feeling his heart begin to pound against hers with arousal. She gently nudged him on his back as she got on top of him. She wanted to watch his face, look into his eyes, as they made love again. She wanted to capture this time with him, seal it up, and remember it before something came along to take it away. She wasn't sure if that would happen, but just in case it did, she wanted to be here with him, loving him and feel him love her, right here, and right now.

* * *

Gibson checked the time on his phone. Any minute now, As He Stands would be walking down the hallway to relieve him. They'd flipped a coin over who would take which shift because neither one of them wanted to be the one to get Mary and Hosteen away from each other in the morning. Sometimes Gibson thought they purposely ignored or pretended not to hear them knocking on the door in the morning. The more time they spent together, the harder it was to get them apart.

And they were becoming very unpredictable, taking risks during the day for just a kiss or a hug. One afternoon, Gibson watched Mary sneak away from the SRP. He followed her all the way out to the other side of the lake where Hosteen was waiting for her. They hadn't told him about this or As He Stands. They stood there for a while, just holding each other and talking. Finally, Hosteen went one way and Mary came over back towards him. Her face reddened when she saw him.

"You can't be doing this, Mary," he shook his head at her. "We have to know. You have to tell either me or As He Stands if you and him are going to meet each other like this. And _not_ out here in the open! There's media everywhere."

"Well, I don't care!" She retorted. "Let them kick me out of the Guard. At least I'll be able to be with him!"

"This isn't just about you. You know what's going on with Avenham now, right?"

"Everyone hates Avenham! No one would kick Leonard out of office!"

"The voters wouldn't, but the Council would. That's why they have Councils, for transparency, to make sure they're not doing anything deceptive or hiding things. His Council _would_ kick him out, no matter what the voters thought."

She looked at him for a minute, a sad realization dawning over her face.

"You don't know how hard this is," she said sadly. "On both of us. I've never wanted to be with someone so much in my life, and I can't see him when I want to. It's the worst."

He could hear in her thoughts that was true. She really did love him, and he loved her. But they had to be more careful or the whole thing was going to fall apart. Especially since Simon Doggett was around. What if he saw them?

The extra task of keeping Simon away was starting to wear Gibson down, having to listen for him and make sure Mary wasn't around. Simon desperately wanted to see her and talk to her, and the more time went on, the more desperate he was getting. Gibson had caught him several times wandering around in places he wasn't supposed to be to look for her. He always glared at Gibson, calling him a few nasty names in his head, before quickly walking away. He'd considered letting Simon find Mary and letting them talk. Maybe that would discourage Simon. Mary was far too in love with Hosteen to do anything with him. But it was still too risky. He really didn't believe that Hosteen or Mary expected the other not to have a past, but he was sure Hosteen didn't have a Simon Doggett lurking around this close and this desperate.

At least all this was temporary, he reminded himself. This was all for a good reason and a better future, but he was exhausted right now. They were going to need to find another person to help him and As He Stands if Mary and Hosteen were going to meet up without telling them. There wasn't really a way to prevent that. He had a pretty good idea of who to enlist, but he was going to have to run it by the SRP first and maybe follow her for a little while to make sure she was trustworthy. Maybe she had something going on in her life that they could hold over her head, but he really didn't want it to come to that. He didn't want to run this thing on that kind of level.

He yawned when As He Stands showed up, they nodded at each other, and Gibson sluggishly went back to his room, where he fell face first into his bed without even bothering to turn out the light.


	17. Chapter 17

_The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2031_

 _3:15pm_

Mary's mother held her hand tighter as they approached the tall man standing in the park. When they got over to him, Mary had to put her head all the way back to look up at him he was so tall.

Mary could feel how nervous her mother was, and she couldn't understand why. Was it because he was so big? He didn't look mean, though. He looked like a nice man.

He looked down at Mary then at her mother. "Is this really her?"

Mary's mother nodded.

He knelt down to look at Mary, tears coming into his deep blue eyes. "Oh my God. She's perfect." He put his hand over his mouth, a couple of tears streaming down his face. "She's so perfect." He looked up at Mary's mother again.

Mary couldn't understand why he was crying. She also turned to look up at her mother.

 _It's okay, Mary._

"Hi, Mary," the man said, his smile was bright despite the tears in his eyes. "I'm William." He hesitated for a few seconds. "I'm your dad."

She turned to look at her mother again.

 _Dad?_

"Oh my God! I can hear her," he said to her mother, astounded, then looked back at Mary again. "Yeah. Your dad."

Mary just looked at him, not sure what she was supposed to do. She felt like they expected her to do something or say something, but all she could do was stand there.

He picked her up in his arms and it made her feel tall, too, like she could see across the world. His eyes were kind and his smile warm. She couldn't help but smile back at him.

"It's unbelievable," he said, looking back over at her mother. "She's so perfect. Just absolutely beautiful."

Mary grinned at him. Was she really beautiful?

"She is," her mother agreed. "She's very smart, too. Mary, what's 6,588 divided by four?"

"One tousind, six hundurt, four seven," Mary answered proudly. She still had a hard time pronouncing words even though she could read them just fine.

The man stared at her wide-eyed. "I don't even know that. And she can just do that? In her head like that?"

Mary's mother nodded, smiling.

Mary didn't really know what the big deal was. That had been easy. She was beginning to eye the swings over at the playground. And the curly slide, her favorite. She hoped her mother wouldn't ask her anymore questions, because she really wanted to go play. Isn't that why they're here?

The man eventually set her down, and she went running over to the playground. Each time she went down the slide she could see the man and her mother sitting over on a bench, just staring at each other quietly. They weren't talking at all. Just staring into each other's eyes. She tried to listen for her mother's thoughts, but she couldn't hear anything. What were they doing just sitting there like that?

It started to frustrate her that they weren't paying attention to her, so she ran over to them and wedged herself in between them. They appeared startled as they looked down at her, both of them putting an arm around her.

"I'll do everything I can," the man said to her mother. "I promise."

"I know," her mother replied.

Mary looked up at each of them. They seemed sad. Why were they so sad?

"I should get her over there before my appointment," her mother said with a sigh, standing up and taking Mary's hand again.

"Yeah," he replied as he stood up, too.

Mary stood there while they hugged each other for a long time. It was a sad kind of hug. Mary couldn't understand why a hug could be sad. She always felt happy when her mother or grandparents hugged her. They hugged for so long Mary became fidgety, wanting to go back over to the slide or leave. She didn't want to just stand there and be ignored.

"Do you think she knows?" Mary's mother asked the man, as they pulled away from each other.

"I don't know."

They stood there for a minute, then the man knelt down to look at Mary again. "I promise to see you as soon as I can. And don't let anyone ever tell you there's anything wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?"

Mary nodded even though she didn't. Why would someone say that to her?

"Can I give you a hug?" He asked her.

Mary nodded again, and he pulled her into his arms. He still seemed unhappy. She thought maybe a hug might cheer him up, but it didn't seem to. He stood back up looking sadly down at Mary, then at her mother. Mary didn't want him to be sad.

"Are you going to tell them?" He asked her mother.

"If I don't, they'll just ask Mary and she'll tell them. I can't tell her to lie to her grandparents."

"I don't think they're ever going to forgive me."

"Don't say that."

They were quiet as they looked at each other in that sad way again, then back down at Mary. She could sense something going on in their heads, a darkness inside them. They were ashamed of something; something bad had happened between them, but she couldn't hear it or see it clearly.

They embraced each other one last time, both of them getting teary eyed. It made Mary want to cry whenever she saw her mother like that.

"I love you," the man said to her mother, his voice shaking.

"I love you, too," her mother replied.

He looked down at Mary. "And I love you, too, Mary. Please always remember that, even if I can't see you or your mother enough, please remember that I love you very much."

Mary felt a little confused. "Okay."

Mary looked back at him as she walked with her mother out to the car, and while her mother strapped her into the car seat. Mary thought the man looked like one of the heroes in the stories she and her mother read together – handsome and brave. Even though he seemed terribly unhappy. How could a hero be unhappy?

Mary watched him as they drove away, hoping she would get to see him again.

"Why's he sad, Mama?"

Her mother didn't answer her right away. She made a few turns until they were out on the main road headed towards her grandparent's house.

"Because he loves us," her mother finally said as they drove along, leaving Mary's dad alone and sad without them.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _12:53pm_

"Hey!"

Mary turned to see Dominique standing behind her, all polished and smooth in her Ceremonial Guard uniform.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked her, shocked.

"Oh, I'm good thanks. Nice to see you, too." Dominique rolled her eyes.

"Well, I just…I thought you were at the coast."

"Nope. Reassigned as of this week." Dominique seemed to be studying Mary's face as she said that, watching her expression. It made Mary feel weird, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"Well, that's good…," Mary's voice trailed off. She wasn't sure what to say. She was a little perplexed. That reassignment had been rather sudden, and there wasn't a dire need for more South Guard while the West was here. They'd already done all the tours. Did the SRP authorize this?

"It is good." Dominique smiled, but it was an odd smile, a loaded smile. "So, we have to go to that thing in a little while, don't we?" She shifted her gun to her other shoulder as they walked down the hall.

"Yeah. They're still doing all their speeches. It's really boring."

They went down to wait for the SRP to depart, and Mary was astonished Dominique would be with them. It made her feel a little worried, too. She wasn't going to be able to get away from her as easy if she started gushing about Leonard Hosteen again. She couldn't just make up something if they were on the same schedule every day. And was she going to be sleeping in the dorm or in the house? And please, God, don't let them be in the same room.

Mary and Dominique went out to the motorcade and waited. They were all going back to the Council building. It used to house the state senate, and it was one of the few Old Republic structures that hadn't been destroyed by enraged citizens with chainsaws and pipe bombs. Mary, Dominique, and all the other Guard members were going to endure yet another long afternoon of standing still, staring at nothing, while each Councilmember from the South and the West gave their speeches. They all stood up at the podium like Moses on Mount Sinai as they made their arguments for or against the acquisition of Hawaii and the Aleutian Islands. So far, there were more against it than for it, but that could change. And they kept having to stop each time someone thought they saw a fly or a beetle in the room.

The media was very clever and had recording devices that looked exactly like insects to smuggle into meetings like this. They were very realistic and it was hard to tell the difference without smashing one of them. The media outlets were desperate to know how this was going to turn out, and they still had Avenham to keep track of. The insect devices helped them do both. Every time someone saw a bug in the room, the entire place had to be evacuated, everyone taken outside several feet from the building, scanned, and then wait while the room was scanned. Most of the time it was a real insect, but they had to be thorough, and the SRP was still trying to develop a device that would shut down those insect recorders if they ever entered government property.

Mary didn't mind those times so much, because she could slip away while everyone waited to see Leonard. They were getting very good at finding ways to see each other. Mary didn't think they should have to tell Gibson or As He Stands about it, and he felt the same way. Why should all their private moments be monitored? Besides, she had experience with this. She knew how to see someone without anyone finding out.

She really wished Gibson hadn't seen them out by the lake that day. She should have been more cautious of her surroundings, but each time she knew she was going to be alone with Leonard, she couldn't think about anything else. And they didn't know when they would see each other again after he and his Council returned to the West. There was nothing planned out yet, so they wanted to take advantage of every opportunity.

When the SRP came out with Gibson, Mary and Dominique saluted, but Mary saw something out of the corner of her eye. Did Gibson and Dominique just nod at each other? She watched both of them in the car as they rode off, but didn't notice anything else. Had she just imagined it?

But Mary forgot all about it once the long, boring speeches began again, and her mind started wandering to Leonard, like it always did. Thinking of him made those times more bearable. She could see him from where she stood, but they tried not to look at each other when other people were around. It was difficult. Her head automatically wanted to turn in his direction and just stay there.

Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrate against her rib cage and she held her breath. They were not supposed to have their phones in here, but Mary had hers anyway. She put it inside a pocket on the inside of her blazer she'd sewn in just for that purpose. It was how she and Leonard could tell each other where to meet and when. The text was always in Navajo. He'd taught her what some words meant, and they wanted to make sure no one else understood it if either of them lost their phones. The Navajo speakers in the room were very few. Mary shifted her eyes over to Dominique, hoping she hadn't heard it, but it didn't seem like she did. She was going to have to excuse herself to the ladies room to see what he sent, but she hadn't seen him on his phone in the past few minutes.

Mary quietly stepped back towards the door, silently shutting it behind her, and quickly walked down the hall. She heard the door open and close behind her, and turned to see Dominique walking up to her.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"To the bathroom."

"Me, too. I'll come with you."

Mary looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I have to pee," Dominique said, shaking her head at Mary like that was the dumbest thing she'd ever said.

Dominique walked ahead of her and into the restroom first. Mary noticed her looking around before she set her gun upon one of the racks and going into a stall. That was strange. What was she looking for?

Mary put her gun on the rack, went into another stall, and pulled out her phone. There was a text message but it wasn't from Leonard. It was from her grandmother.

 _Hi Mary. Can you call me later this evening? It's been a while since I've heard from you._

She read over it several times, completely surprised. She'd kind of forgotten about her grandmother since this whole thing started. She hoped everything was okay. Had she gotten her pardon anyway, with Avenham still on trial? And her grandmother never really seemed concerned about how often she heard from Mary. Something must be wrong. She was starting to feel a flutter of concern in her stomach.

Mary heard Dominique wash her hands, but she didn't hear her leave. She could see her high heels under the stall door, standing over by the sinks.

"You can just go ahead," Mary called to her. "I'll be right behind you."

"No. I'll wait."

Mary hoped her sigh of annoyance wasn't too loud. She didn't really have to go, but she did anyway. Then hurriedly sent her grandmother a text back.

 _Is everything okay?_

She put her phone back in her pocket, washed her hands, and followed Dominique out of the ladies room. Dominique seemed determined to walk slightly in front of Mary. This was really weird. What was she doing?

But when Mary saw the West Region red uniform down the hallway, she was glad that Dominique was in front of her when she saw who it was.

Simon waved at them and began walking down towards them.

"Nice to see you again, Simon," Dominique said curtly, pushing Mary back into the meeting hall, and shutting the door, before Mary could even blink.

* * *

"I'm sorry we haven't been able to talk for a while," the SRP said as she poured herself a glass of vodka.

She didn't offer any to Mary, although Mary kind of hoped she would. She needed a glass of vodka, or several, after the day she'd had; Dominique showing up and acting so strange and seeing Simon again. Why won't he just go away?

She wasn't worried about what he would say to her. She was worried about what she might say to him. She was afraid she might yell at him or start crying or something. She couldn't trust herself not to have some kind of emotional outburst after four years of nothing and him just showing up at the worst possible time. She didn't want to hear what he had to say about anything, and she didn't want him to see her upset over it. She wanted him to think it hadn't bothered her at all.

She looked down at her phone to see if she had any messages or missed calls. Her grandmother had messaged her back, assuring her everything was fine, and she just wanted to see how Mary was doing. But when Mary called her earlier, there was no answer. She called three times, each with no answer at all. She couldn't help but feel apprehensive about it. Why tell her to call and not answer? It wasn't like she ever went anywhere or did anything.

The SRP sat down across from Mary. "We found a doctor."

Mary looked up at her.

"Well, she's not really a doctor. She's a nurse, actually. Nurse…um…what's her name again?" She turned to look back at Gibson.

"Nurse Owens," he answered.

"A nurse?" Mary asked.

"And a midwife. She'll be with you for the whole thing. She's not NAU either, so she doesn't have a board to report to. She understands what's expected of her, and she's agreed to it. It worked out well."

"Is she here in the South or in the West?" Mary asked.

"She can be in both if we need her to be," she sipped her vodka and ran her eyes over Mary's middle. "How are you feeling? Any nausea or anything?"

"They've barely been here two weeks. I wouldn't know this soon."

"I think I have some pregnancy tests that can detect it this soon. If not, I think Nurse Owens might know of something."

"You have pregnancy tests?"

"Yes, I have several," the SRP smiled at Mary. "We want to be prepared."

Mary wanted to be annoyed that she'd gotten pregnancy tests already, but at least that meant Mary didn't have to endure the embarrassment of getting them herself.

"And as much as you and him have seen each other," the SRP said sternly. "It's pretty much guaranteed you already are."

Mary looked at her, feeling her face start to flush.

"You cannot do that, Mary! You can't see each other without telling anyone! I don't care how sexy he looks when he asks you to meet him, you can't do it without Gibson knowing or As He Stands."

Mary glared over at Gibson. He looked sheepishly down at his shoes. Why did he have to go and tell her?

"There is media everywhere, and I wouldn't be surprised if they've made some kind of alligator with a camera in it and put it in the lake."

"We just want some privacy," Mary said angrily, still scowling at Gibson.

"I know. And he should know better than to do these kinds of things. It's very reckless. You must have quite a hold on him if he's so willing to put it all on the line just to see you."

Mary knew she didn't say that to make her feel good, but she did anyway.

"They have to know. Do you understand? And if Gibson tells you to do something, you do it. What he says comes from me, and I am still the President, your Commander-In-Chief, no matter how informal we've been. Got it?"

Mary crossed her arms, refusing to look at her. This was ridiculous. They were husband and wife, and they were careful enough. They didn't need babysitters.

"Got it?"

Mary gave her a nod, and looked back over at Gibson. He was looking out the window to avoid her eyes. He didn't have to tell her. What the hell is wrong with him?

"Looks like it's almost bedtime for you," the SRP said to her, smiling suggestively.

Mary wanted to slap that smile right off her face. She stood to leave, Gibson following her out into the hallway. As soon as the door was shut, she rounded on him so fast, he backed up against the wall.

"Why did you tell her?!"

"Like I said, this isn't just about you."

"But it's not about her!"

"It is! This is _her_ home. _Her_ Region. Would you rather it had come from one of her staff? Or be reported in the news the next day?"

"We are very careful!"

"Are you? It wasn't that hard for me to notice you slipping away and follow you. What if it hadn't been me? What if it was Simon Doggett?"

Mary blinked, staring at him for a minute. Why did he just say that? Why would he say that?

"I don't care if Corporal Doggett sees anything," Mary said, turning away to walk down the hall.

"Yes you do."

Mary stopped, hoping he didn't see her hands starting to shake. "Did he say something to you?"

"No."

She thought he might explain, but he didn't.

"I can keep Simon away from you, but you have to trust me, and you have to tell me when you are meeting with Hosteen so I can make sure he's not around!" Then his tone changed, his voice softer. "I know you don't want to talk him, and I can't blame you. He shouldn't have disappeared on you like that."

Mary looked around, but it was late and most people had left or gone to bed. "Did Dominique tell you?"

Gibson sighed. "You just have to trust me, okay? I am not going to let anything bad happen to you. Or Hosteen. I promise."

Mary saw something in his face just then that she'd never seen before. It wasn't weird or creepy. It was sincere. It was loyal.

"Okay," Mary replied, even though she was still mystified over how he could know about that. But she had learned that no one, especially those around her, was ever what they seemed.

* * *

The SRP had told Gibson to come back and see her once his shift was over. When As He Stands showed up, Gibson went back into her rooms. It didn't look like she'd gone to bed at all. She was still sipping a glass of vodka.

"How many does that make?" Gibson asked her, nodding at her glass.

"I don't know. Three maybe."

They were mostly okay now. They'd apologized to each other, but the argument, the unexplained, was still simmering there between them. He knew it would come up again, but for now they were okay. He really wanted it to stay that way.

"Can't sleep?" He asked her.

"No."

"Did you take anything?"

"Yeah. Vodka makes it work faster sometimes." She looked at her glass. She didn't sound intoxicated at all.

"Well, there's a lot going on. A lot to think about."

"It's not that." She set the glass down and sat across from the window that overlooked the lake. "I'm having those dreams again."

He knew what she was talking about, because he had them, too. The one where he opened his eyes, frozen inside that spaceship, an excruciating scream in his ears like it was coming up from Hell. The one on the beach, regurgitating whatever had been in their lungs and stomachs, turning over to see hundreds or thousands of them lined up on the beach, doing the same. It probably wasn't that many in real life.

And that man. Smoking an eMorley, the letters lighting up on the side each time he inhaled. Sometimes the smoke he exhaled smelled like mint. Other times like lilac or vanilla. He was always standing with officers of the Jamaican Constabulary Force, their faces would twist in his dreams like Picasso paintings. Sometimes the man's smile was too wide, curling up to his earlobes like the Cheshire cat. But he always said the same thing as he knelt down to look at him, as Gibson coughed up his lungs and tried to back away from them.

"Kids. They grow up so fast."

Sometimes his voice was distorted, too slow or too fast, layered, like dozens voices were coming out of him at once. He didn't know who that man was even now. He didn't look like any of the ones that had put them in the spaceship. He remembered every single one of those faces very well.

He hadn't had those dreams in a long time, though. He wondered why she was having them. It had been decades since all of that happened.

"Why do you think you're having them now?" He asked her, sitting in another chair close by.

She thought about it for a minute, looking out the window. "You ever feel like something bad is about to happen, and there's nothing you can do about it?"

"What? Like they'll come back for us or something? I'm pretty sure they're all dead by now."

"No, not them. I don't know who. Or what. Just something bad."

He really wasn't sure what she meant. They had the situation with Mary and Hosteen under control now since they added Dominique to their spy/handler ring.

That had been an interesting conversation.

She'd sat over on the other side of the room, fresh from the coast, sludgy sand still on her boots, and the indentations of the gas mask on her face. Gibson thought maybe she wasn't taking what they were telling her seriously. She seemed to think this was all some kind of joke.

"And who are you?" She asked As He Stands, looking him up and down.

"I'm Jemaine," he said to her, smiling, looking her up and down as well.

"Hi Jemaine," she smiled.

"Hi."

The SRP walked over and stood between them. "Okay, so you understand?"

"Follow her everywhere and keep Simon Doggett away." Dominique said, looking very entertained by the whole thing.

"Right. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No. And no more coast duty, right?"

"Right. Not for the rest of the visit."

"No," Dominique said firmly. "Not for the rest of the year."

The SRP looked over at Gibson and he nodded.

"Okay, not for the rest of the year."

Dominique smiled and looked around the SRP at As He Stands again. "Are you Navajo, Jemaine?"

"Lakota Sioux," he replied, his smile even bigger.

"Really?" She smiled back, crossing and uncrossing her legs as sexily as she could in fatigues and boots.

"Jesus Christ," the SRP grumbled, taking Gibson by the arm and dragging him into a corner.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked.

"We need help. And she knows Mary better than we do. And Simon, too."

Gibson felt guilty about telling the SRP about Simon Doggett, but he had to sell her on the idea of involving Dominique. She hadn't been upset or angry when he told her. She seemed very amused.

"Well, I greatly underestimated her," she'd laughed, looking at Simon's image in the registry.

"What do you mean?" He'd asked.

"Oh, you know how she is. Running around with all that Blushing Virgin crap. I was sure there'd been an academy boy, but him? She did very, very well."

Gibson rolled his eyes. He didn't see what was so attractive about him.

"I guess he's okay," he'd said, looking over her shoulder at Simon's image on her phone. "But his ears are too big, and his nose is weird."

"No, they're not – well, yeah, his ears are kind of big, but Monica Reyes must be damn proud of this one. My goodness." She laughed again. "Mary is just full of surprises, isn't she?"

He nodded. She was full of a lot of things, and they had to make sure one of those things was Leonard Hosteen and stayed that way. He didn't think Mary and Simon would do anything, but Simon wasn't going to stop looking for her and trying to talk to her. He could be anywhere, and they needed Dominique to make sure she was never alone unless it was with Hosteen and someone was watching out for them. They weren't going to tell Mary, or else she'd try things behind Dominique's back, too.

Thinking about that conversation now made Gibson remember to go make sure As He Stands was actually alone right now before he went to bed. He didn't think As He Stands would be that careless, but Dominique might.

The SRP stood up right then and came over to him, sorrow in her eyes. It startled him. Where was this coming from?

"You know you're my only friend," she said to him. "I'm surrounded by people all the time, but you're my only friend."

He stood up. "Did something happen?"

She took one of his hands in both of hers. "Will you promise me, that if something happens, you'll be on my side? You'll stay my friend?"

He tried to listen to the dark storm rolling through her head, but it was hard to find anything coherent. Why was she being like this all the sudden?

"I don't understand. Did something happen?"

"Just promise me, Gibson, please. We've been through Hell together. Will you promise me you'll remember that?"

He started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. He was beginning to think it had to do with those caretakers she'd found. Or found her. He still wasn't sure which, but was something happening with them and her? He wasn't sure if he should promise anything. Not until she explained better.

She didn't like how he was just looking at her, not saying anything. She let go of his hand and turned away from him. He started to feel bad, but he didn't know what was going on.

"Will you just tell me?" He asked.

She picked up her glass of vodka and waved him away. "Go."

He hesitated for a minute, then left, forgetting to salute her on the way out. Once he was out in the hallway he stopped, looking around, unsure of which way to go.


	18. Chapter 18

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _2:44am_

Gibson nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the door open and Hosteen came out into the hall. Gibson hadn't been asleep, but he'd been browsing around on his phone, slowly becoming hypnotized by the blue light, keeping his ears open for anyone coming up the stairs or down the hall. This was the last few days of the West's visit, so Gibson, Dominique, and As He Stands, had their work cut out for them.

Mary told Gibson, begrudgingly so, when she was meeting with Hosteen. Sometimes it was only for a handful of minutes, and most of the time either Gibson or As He Stands had to drag one away from the other; they were getting desperate as the time for them to part was approaching. They had technology to help with the distance, but that wasn't enough for them; it was never the same as being face-to-face.

At least Dominique was doing well at keeping Simon away. Gibson wasn't exactly sure how she was doing it, but it looked like the West was going to leave without Mary or Simon ever speaking to each other. He'd started to wonder if that was too intrusive or cruel in some way. Shouldn't Simon and Mary just be able to talk? It wasn't like this was 1549 and Mary would lose her head if she was seen talking to a man that wasn't her husband. But Gibson wasn't sure what Simon would do or say. The whole thing between them had been recent enough and hurtful enough to guarantee any discussion they had would become emotional and out of hand.

Hosteen buttoned up his shirt, whispering something to Mary as they stood in the doorway. Gibson stood up from his chair, looking around hurriedly. Why was he coming out now? He'd never done this before.

Hosteen kissed her and quickly walked down the hallway, right past him without noticing him there at all. Dumbfounded, Gibson just stood there for a second, then went over to Mary still standing in the doorway. She had a robe on, and he turned his face away when he starting thinking about how she probably wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"What happened?" He whispered to her. "Where's he going?"

"He got a call," she whispered back, apprehension all over her face. "From one of the engineers at the base in the Mojave."

"About what?"

She looked at him, then slowly looked away. He could hear some of it in her thoughts, and he began to feel uneasy as he listened. Not only because of what it was, but because Hosteen should not be sharing highly sensitive or classified material with her like this. Wife or not, she wasn't cleared for this kind of information.

"What happened at the base?" He asked her.

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough," Mary said to him tiredly, as she shut the door and went back inside her room.

He wasn't sure what he should do. Should he stay here incase Hosteen came back? But he probably wasn't going to for the rest of the morning. He checked his phone to see if he'd missed something from the SRP, but there was nothing. Just then, he got a message from As He Stands.

 _With Hosteen now. Wake Covarrubias and meet us in the SAR. ASAP._

The SAR, Secure Access Room, was one of the panic rooms in the house, the one on the first floor. It was the biggest and also had the most amenities. There was an entire two bedroom apartment in it; complete with solar-powered AC, full kitchen stocked with food, multiple charging stations for electronic devices, and a hidden WiFi connection.

Also guns.

Lots of guns. With enough ammunition to last through the next decade.

His heart pounded with adrenaline as he went to the SRP's rooms. She was already up when he got there.

"Hosteen just sent me a message," she said drowsily, pulling back her hair. She'd put on jeans and an ugly, faded grey T-Shirt. "Did you get it, too?"

"I got one from As He Stands to wake you."

"Did he say what this is about?"

"No."

Her phone chimed, and she looked at it as they walked out towards the stairs. "Burns is teleconferencing in? Is this about Avenham?"

"I think something happened at the base in the Mojave."

"Why? What did you hear?"

Gibson shrugged. He didn't want to say exactly what he'd heard or who he'd heard it from.

They had to scan both their handprints to get into the room. Once inside, a reinforced steel door closed behind them like a bank vault, sealing them in. Burns was already on the screen, in his pajamas, yawning, and looking furious.

Gibson could see it was snowing like crazy outside the window behind him. It was early autumn, but snowfall seemed to start earlier and earlier each year up there and continue long past the spring equinox into summer.

"Has Avenham finally been impeached or something?" Burns asked them grouchily. "We're all going to find out about that later anyway."

"No," Hosteen said. "But we're going to have to proceed with this project without him."

"We can't do that without a valid ERP," Covarrubias said.

"We have to," Hosteen said to her sternly. "And move the launch date up. And where's Byers? He has to be in on this, too."

"No, Gibson's here. We don't need him."

James Byers was the current Regional Secretary of the South Region, the position Gibson knew he should be holding instead. Byers was notoriously agoraphobic, had extreme social anxiety, and only ever talked to anyone through a screen at meticulously scheduled times. The only reason the SRP put up with all his oddities was because he stayed away from her and did his job well, albeit locked up inside his home all the time.

People liked to make fun of him. There was a meme that occasionally cycled through social media of an obese man sitting behind an old, beige desktop. The caption was always something about Regional Secretary Byers introducing himself to middle aged men as a teenage girl on the Internet. Gibson didn't know if Byers really catfished people, or if he was fat, but Gibson already did everything the Regional Secretary was supposed to do except the paperwork. Byers seemed to like that part of the job, but he was being paid to do a job that Gibson did better than him.

"We are absolutely not moving the launch date up," Burns said furiously. "Is this why you woke us all up?"

"Just listen," Hosteen said to them, looking around the room. "You remember what happened with the _Voyagers_? _Voyager 1_ and _2_?"

Everyone nodded and said they did. Of course they remembered that. _Voyager 1_ and _Voyager 2_ had been launched in the late 1970s. Both had stopped transmitting, which was expected, but 2020 was much sooner than predicted. During the transition, after NASA, CSA, and AEM had been disemboweled and their people scattered all over the globe to get out of the Union, _Voyager 2_ began transmitting again. Only no one was paying attention at first. A couple of years later, _Voyager 1_ also came back. By the time the transition had settled down and qualified Union engineers and astrophysicists were able to take over the former administrations' equipment and facilities, both space probes had sent several weak and mysterious signals. Even more baffling was where they supposedly transmitted from – the very outskirts of the Milky Way, millions of light years from where they should have been. No one knew how they'd gotten so far in such a short time. Union media reported that NASA had lied about the space probes' capabilities and their launch dates, yet another example of the corruption of the Old Republic, but it still did not provide enough of an explanation for where the _Voyagers_ were and why they were transmitting again.

Hosteen moved to the edge of his seat, looking around at each of them. " _Pioneer 10_ and _Pioneer 11_ are back. The engineers we have in the Mojave started receiving signals late yesterday evening. They didn't know what it was at first but now they do. We're receiving signals again. From both. At the same time." He watched everyone's faces as that sunk in.

Gibson remembered learning about those two space probes when he was a kid. One had stopped transmitting in 1995 and the other in 2003. They'd sort of been forgotten about. No one was really sure who actually had ownership of any of the space probes since the government that had launched them was no more. _New Horizons_ , the most recent launch in 2006, was no longer transmitting at all. The last data received in 2034 showed it had breached the heliopause, then it shortly went dark.

Covarrubias looked at Burns then at Hosteen. " _Pioneer 10_ and _11_? They went silent a long time ago, didn't they? Why are they transmitting now?"

"We don't know," Hosteen said grimly. "And they're coming back, too."

"Back where?" Burns asked.

"Here. Earth."

No one said anything for a minute.

"Why are they coming back? They can't just turn around, can they? I thought they were just supposed to stay out there and orbit around forever," Burns said. He was looking a lot less tired now.

"No, they can't just turn around," Hosteen said to them. "But they did. They're past the Kuiper Belt now. They'll be passing Pluto within the next year."

Gibson really wished Hosteen hadn't told Mary this first. It wasn't like he thought Mary would tell the whole world, but knowledge of this was dangerous. Two long dead space probes transmitting again and retracing their path back to earth, with no controls or sources telling them to, was just as mysterious as it was frightening. They had to have interacted with something out there.

"And," Hosteen said with a sigh. "What they're sending back we don't understand as of yet. But it's not just decade's worth of data." He paused. "It's thousands of year's worth. Hundreds of thousands of years."

No one said a thing. The intensity in the room was mounting and even though Burns wasn't physically there, Gibson could sense his growing trepidation from the screen.

"Who else knows about this?" Burns asked quietly.

"Just us as far as we know. But there were two receivers left in the world that could interact with the _Pioneers_. We have one. We don't know who has the other."

"It could just be collecting dust somewhere," Covarrubias speculated. "No one ever expected them to come back and it's old technology. I doubt there's anyone left from back then who would even know to listen for them, right?"

"Maybe," Hosteen replied. "But we have to launch as soon as possible. The ship can meet the probes once they've flown through the asteroid belt and direct them to Mars. We can't let them come here until we know what's going on with them."

"Should we call a Summit?" Covarrubias asked them.

A Summit was a meeting of all the Unions. The NAU, the African Union, the Arabic Union, and now the new South Asian Union were all members.

"No," Burns responded. "I don't think we should do that until we know exactly what the _Pioneers_ are sending." He looked at Hosteen. "Are you sure it's _that_ much data?"

"That's what they tell me, and they've sent me some of it. I haven't had a chance to look at all of it myself."

"We should all be able to look at it ourselves," Covarrubias said. "And whoever comes after Avenham."

"If anyone does," Burns mumbled angrily. "This trial is taking way too long, and it's still possible that idiot will come out on top. But he can't know about this. He'll start shouting to the media about building hotels on all the stars and God knows what else he'll say."

"Okay, so you're a no for the Summit," Covarrubias looked at Burns. "I'm a yes. What are you?" She nodded at Hosteen.

"No."

She crossed her arms as the room got silent again.

Gibson looked around. Six of them know about this. Burns' Regional Secretary was probably in the room somewhere off-screen, and if she wasn't Burns would tell her as soon as he could. Six, and if he counted Mary, that was seven. He hadn't even considered Hosteen would share classified information with her, but Hosteen didn't see her as a Guard member without the proper clearance. Hosteen saw Mary as his companion and wife. He began to wonder what else Hosteen has shared with her. The complexities and recklessness of this relationship had gone unforeseen and unconsidered. He certainly believed the SRP didn't think they would have become so close and so in love. She was only thinking about what they would produce; not about them as individuals with their own hearts and minds.

Gibson watched her face as they all kept talking, sorting out how they were going to launch that unfinished ship so soon and have enough trained astronauts, physicists, and engineers to maneuver it in enough time. He wondered if this was the bad thing she'd been talking about: the long-lost _Pioneers_ soaring back into the solar system suddenly with an impossibly long, currently incoherent story to tell. And the timing – just as colonization was beginning here, they come back out of nowhere. Was that just a coincidence or was something else aware of what they were doing?

* * *

"You're not going to go up with them, are you?" Mary asked him.

They really hadn't done anything except talk most of the night, and Mary didn't care what they did together as long as they were together. The fact that he was leaving soon was making her feel incredibly clingy and needy, though. She was trying to think of something to tell As He Stands or Gibson in the morning as to why they needed more time alone. She didn't want to be away from him, and he didn't want to be away from her; especially not now. Wasn't there a way to let them have an entire day together? Make up some kind of excuse?

"No, of course not," Leonard answered, brushing a strand of her hair from her face. "Why would you even ask me that?"

"You said you wanted to be an astronaut," she smiled at him.

"And I'm not," he smiled back, pulling her over to him, holding her in the way she would never tire of. "There are more qualified people going. And I can't leave you. Or our future growing right here." He place his hand over her navel as they smiled at each other.

She didn't know for sure just yet, but she was late. Very late. And the past few mornings she'd woken up dizzy and nauseated. That wasn't like her at all. She'd never been sick before. Not once in her life. Not a cough or a fever. She concluded it had to be pregnancy making her feel this way. She'd told him as soon as she suspected. She didn't want to tell the SRP just to get to her stash of pregnancy tests. He should know first, not her or anyone else.

He kept his hand there as he kissed her, then lay his face next to hers. "I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't leave you for anything. Ever."

"I wouldn't leave you either," she replied.

She put her hand over his and wondered if she might feel something, although she knew it was far too early for that. She was excited to find out for sure and then find out what it would be. She'd like to have a little girl. She could braid her hair the way her mother used to braid hers.

"What are you hoping for?" He asked her, as if he'd read her mind.

"I don't care as long as it's healthy and happy, but I'd like a little girl. I want to name her Melissa."

"Why Melissa?"

"My grandmother called me that once. At my grandfather's funeral, when she saw me, she called me Melissa. My mother said that was the name of her sister that died a long time ago. I guess my grandmother thought I looked like her."

"How did she die?"

"I don't know. No one really ever tells me anything."

She nuzzled her face into his neck as they lay there in silence for a time.

"Melissa," he repeated. "I like it."

"If it's a boy, we should name him after you."

"Oh no," he laughed. "I don't like my name."

"You don't? Why?"

"It sounds like it came out of some 19th century romance novel or something. I've never liked it. We can come up with something better."

"How about your middle name, Albert?"

He smiled at her, kissing the tip of her nose. "We'll see. Look at us making all these plans when we don't even know for sure yet."

But Mary was about 99% sure. Why else would she feel like this? She couldn't wait to find out when she was due, and then say goodbye to the South, the SRP, and live in the West. Leonard had already signed off on her transfer, and all she had to do was turn it in to Lieutenant Skinner and leave.

She wished she didn't have to say anything to the SRP about it, but she would have to in order to see Nurse Owens. She could come with Mary to the West to keep up with all her medical exams. Mary wished she could do it all right now, but it would look strange for a South Guard member to leave with the West, and she had to say goodbye to Dominique and her friends anyway. She would probably come back to visit them. And Simon was just a problem she would have to face when she got there. Gibson was doing a damn good job of keeping his promise to keep him away from her.

She also wasn't sure how long she should wait before doing all of this. When exactly would she start showing? She should find that out. But the first task was to make sure she really was and when she would be due. It would be next summer probably. She was starting to get a little nervous about it, however. About hiding it and actually having the baby. It was something she never wanted to do and now she wanted it very much, even though she was risking a lot for it. And she knew that they would be good parents. No abandonment or neglect; their children would be loved all their lives.

"What are you thinking?" Leonard asked her, watching her face.

"About the family we'll have. I think we'll be good parents."

"I think so, too."

"How many are we going to have? We've never talked about that."

He looked thoughtful for a second or two. "As many as we can, I guess. But it's really not up to me. I won't have to share my body for nine months."

"Are they going to kill people?"

"Who?"

"Our children."

"Why would they kill anyone?"

"Colonization. People are really going to die?"

"People will die because they're people. We don't die. Pretty soon, we'll be the only ones left just because of that." He lay on his back and Mary set her chin on his chest to look at him. "Our children will grow up, meet others like them, others who are one kind most likely, then pretty soon that's all there will be here. I didn't intend to teach them to kill. Did you?"

"No. I just didn't want anyone to have to die. But I guess people will. Just because that's what happens."

They were quiet for a while. Mary lay her ear against his chest to listen to his heartbeat, while he stroked her hair. They really were going to be Mother and Father of the entire planet, and she was glad it wouldn't have to involve violence. She didn't want their children to be violent.

"Do you know what the _Pioneers_ are sending yet?" Mary asked him.

"Sound waves," he replied. "But it's not the kind we can hear. Only animals can hear it. And they don't make sense. It's not like music or anything. Just sound we can't hear with our very limited range."

"I think my grandparents used to investigate stuff like this."

"Sound waves from space?"

"No. Well, maybe. It was unusual stuff. Stuff that didn't have a reasonable explanation. I don't know specifics, though. My grandmother doesn't like to talk about it."

"Why would the FBI investigate that? It was a law enforcement agency, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. I don't know. There's a lot of things about them I don't know."

Mary wrapped her arms tightly around him, and he did the same with her. She breathed him in, loving the scent of him. It was woodsy and smoky; it reminded her of wintertime in the North Region, when the air was clean and crisp and the smell of pines carried in the wind. And she loved how his arms felt around her, pressing her up against him. It never felt close enough. They fit so well together. Why couldn't they just be like this all the time?

"I don't want to go to sleep," she said softly. "I don't want to miss a single second with you."

"Me either."

His deep brown eyes always penetrated hers in a way that made her never want to avert her gaze. He looked at her that way each time they made love, willing her to look at him and never look away.

One day it won't be like this; dreading to hear the knock at the door and have to leave each other's arms, then keep up the charade that there was nothing between them. Mary supposed that eight years, in comparison to eternity, was nothing. But it was still eight years they'd have to get through. He'd already decided he wasn't going to run again, and even though that would lessen some of the pressure, Mary would still be under her contract. She had many moments where she wanted to just allow herself to be discharged anyway. It would be quite embarrassing and she would lose a lot, but all that was temporary. At least she'd be able to completely commit herself to this new role.

"Can't you stay for another day or two?" She asked him.

"You know a day or two isn't enough for us."

Indeed it wasn't. It felt like minutes. Was it healthy to need, to want, to love someone this much?

"It'll go by fast," he said reassuringly. "You'll be transferred and we'll be closer. Then one day," he kissed her neck, laying her on her back. "We'll be together all the time. Just us and our family. Always. No goodbyes."

She opened her legs for him, pulling him down on top her. His face was so close, his breath mingling with hers.

"No goodbyes," she repeated.

* * *

Mary sat on the bathroom floor, a two liter of ginger ale next to her. She had just vomited for the…well, she wasn't sure how many times it had been that night. She took a sip of ginger ale, trying to calm the nausea churning in her stomach.

God, this child was making her sick as a dog.

The morning sickness had turned into night sickness. She didn't know how long she'd been in bed before she started feeling like she'd been spinning too fast on a boat, bouncing over waves. She wondered if her mother and grandmother felt like this when they'd been pregnant. It wasn't like she could ask them, though.

Mary had the bathroom door closed, but she could hear Dominique snoring and mumbling in her sleep anyway. At least Dominique hadn't heard her getting sick. This was going to be hard to hide. How would she explain this? She'd never been sick before. She was going to have to go see the SRP tomorrow. As much as she dreaded telling the SRP her news, it was time to see Nurse Owens. There was no doubt in her mind she was pregnant, but she'd been putting off going to the SRP, not wanting to see how she'd react; and weird, creepy Gibson listening in on all of it. Well, he wasn't that bad. He'd kept Simon away from her after all.

She heard her phone start beeping as a call came in. She'd forgotten she'd brought it in here with her. She'd been looking up how long the nausea lasted, then realized there wasn't a website or blog that discussed pregnancy symptoms for inbred hybrids like her.

She crawled over to the bathroom sink, grabbed her phone from the counter, and saw that it was her grandmother. Why was she calling so late? They'd been playing phone tag for the last week or so, but to call her this late? If it was even late. She wasn't sure what time it was.

Mary quickly wiped her face with her shirt and smoothed her hair, trying her best to look as if she hadn't been throwing up, and answered the call. Her grandmother's face appeared on the screen.

"Hi, Mary," she said, smiling.

"Hi," Mary replied, then tried to angle her phone so her grandmother couldn't see the toilet or shower in the background. "Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?"

"Is it late? It's only ten, isn't it?"

Ten? Was that all? She felt like she'd been in here longer than that.

"Oh. I guess it just seems late for some reason." She really hoped her grandmother couldn't tell she'd been sick, but she'd been a doctor. It might be obvious to her.

"Well, we can talk tomorrow, if that's better for you," her grandmother said. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm good," Mary replied, feeling another wave nausea come over her.

Not now, dammit.

Her grandmother looked at her for a few seconds, as if she was making sure Mary was good. Mary hoped her smile didn't look forced.

"So, um," her grandmother began. "Your mother sent me the recording from the event, with all the Presidents there. You were right there in front with the flag."

"Was I in the front?"

"It looked like it."

"So," Mary swallowed the bile creeping up her throat. "You saw her? You saw the SRP?"

"Yeah."

Mary could see her jaw tighten when she said that.

"She looks good," her grandmother smiled weakly. "I'm glad she's doing well."

But Mary could tell she wasn't glad. Not at all.

"And that, um…the West President, the WRP," her grandmother continued. "He's, um, he's very nice-looking."

Mary hoped her cheeks weren't red, but she knew they were. "Uh huh."

"He really is. I'd never seen him before. How long has he been in office?"

"Two years, I think."

Her grandmother nodded. "And he's Navajo?"

"Yeah. I mean…I think so. I don't really know." She was terrible at this with her tell-tale blushing all over the place. She couldn't have been an FBI agent, like her grandmother, she knew that for sure. But the mentioning of Leonard's heritage reminded Mary of something.

"Actually, there's something I've been wanting to ask you about a Navajo reservation."

"What?"

Mary swallowed another wave of nausea. "Did you ever hear anything about some FBI agents going to a Navajo reservation? Looking for something in a train car?"

She watched her grandmother's face gradually change, her eyes widening slowly, a frown beginning at the corners of her mouth. "A train car?"

"Yeah. There was something in it? And these men showed up after the FBI agents were there and did something to some of the men living there? Did you ever hear anything about that?"

Her grandmother leaned her face closer to the screen, her voice lower. "Why are you asking me about this?"

"I, uh…I met a West Guard when I was over there. We were talking about our families and when I told him about you and grandfather, he said some FBI agents came to the reservation looking for something."

"Who was he?" She looked alarmed.

"I didn't get his name," she lied. "We were just talking one day."

Her grandmother didn't say anything for a minute. She looked troubled, pulling at the gold cross around her neck.

"Do you remember anything about that?" Mary asked again, but clearly her grandmother did remember something.

"Yeah," she replied after a few seconds. "I remember hearing about it."

"Do you know who the FBI agents were?"

Her grandmother didn't say anything for a minute or two, then Mary saw her eyes shift to the side, looking at something out of Mary's view.

"Well," her grandmother said. "I just wanted to see how you are, but I should be going."

What was she looking at? Was there someone else there with her?

"It wasn't you and him, was it?" Mary asked quietly.

Her grandmother gave her a fake smile. "I'll talk to you later, Mary. Good night."

The call disconnected, and Mary sat there, a little jarred from that sudden ending. Obviously, her grandmother did remember something about that, and knew who'd been there. It couldn't have been them, could it?

Before Mary could give that thought any more contemplation, she went back over to the toilet to vomit again, hoping it would all be over soon.


	19. Chapter 19

_The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2039_

 _7:46pm_

Mary was in her room.

It wasn't really a room, though.

It was a walk-in closet that Madison had cleaned out and made Mary's "room" for when she had to spend the night. Madison had put a box spring and mattress in one corner and a night stand in the other. Both of them were old and one of the drawers always fell out of the nightstand, and the mattress sagged in the middle, making Mary feel like it was swallowing her up.

Thankfully, she rarely had to sleep over, but she had to tonight. Her mother had received an emergency alert from the hospital. There had been a train accident and several people were showing up to the ER needing surgery.

Her mother worked at a private practice full time, but she was on-call at the hospital to earn extra money. The Union put a cap on what medical professionals could earn, because they believed it was a public service and not a profit-making scheme. Salaries earned by medical professionals of the Old Republic had led to corruption, greed, and the deaths of millions that couldn't afford medical care or were put on a waiting list.

Or so they said.

Hence, Mary was stuck here until her mother could come and get her. And that probably wouldn't be until morning.

Mary looked up from her reading when Esther knocked on the door.

"Do you want to come sit in our room for a little while? Eve is practicing downstairs."

Eve had a pageant in a couple of days. Mary could hear the music that Eve twirled her baton to on a loop as she practiced her routine. Her mother had told her not to do that in the house, but she was anyway. Mary expected to hear the smash of glass any minute when Eve's baton spun into a cabinet or light fixture.

Mary closed her tablet. "Okay, but I'd better not sit near the window."

There was a man having dinner with her father and Madison out on the patio. Mary's father told her to stay out of sight whenever that man came around. Most of the time, her father knew when he was coming, so Mary's mother would take her home or make sure her visit ended before he showed up. But sometimes he showed up without warning.

Mary had never really seen him, but she could smell him. He smoked eMorleys. The scent was always lemony and sweet, like a lemon meringue pie or yellow cake. Most of the time, Mary knew he was in the house just by that. She didn't know his name or why her father didn't want that man to see her, but she could sense from her father the man wasn't really a good man. Mary's father never explained to her why he let him come to the house, but she knew her father worked with him. Maybe that's why he came over to talk so much.

Esther sat on her bed, and Mary sat on the floor, below the window. The curtains were closed, but she was careful to stay out of sight.

Esther and Eve shared a room, and right beside theirs was the bathroom and on the other side of that was Ephraim's room. The three of them had to share the bathroom. Ephraim was more vain than his sisters at times, and Mary remembered hearing Eve and Esther knocking on the door of their bathroom, shouting he let them have their turn one morning. He liked to comb his hair a certain way, and always tucked in his shirts, even his T-Shirts. Sometimes he'd wear a suit and tie to the dinner table.

Mary could see through both doorways into Ephraim's room. He was sitting on the floor, the green-blue light of his video game on his face as he swiped with his fingers and nodded his head at it.

He turned to see Mary staring at him. "What are you looking at? Lizard eyes!"

He got up and slammed the door shut.

Esther tossed her tablet on her bed, stood up, stomped across the room and bathroom, and pounded on his door.

"What?" He said, as he opened it.

Esther grabbed him by the ear, dragged him into their room, and then flung him on the floor.

"You apologize to her!" Esther demanded.

Mary sat back against the wall, afraid Ephraim might try to hit her or something. It was pretty bad that she was scared of a nine year old.

"What's wrong with you? That hurt!" Ephraim shouted.

"What's wrong with you?!" Esther shouted back. "Say you're sorry!"

"I'm NOT sorry!"

"Fine!"

Esther ran into his room and snatched his monitor off the wall, shutting off his video game, and went running down the hall with it.

"What are you doing?! All my games are on that!" Ephraim chased after her.

Oh, God. Mary got up, feeling obligated to stop this since she was the oldest person in the house right now. She knew that whether she interfered or not, Madison would blame her. Any trouble the triplets got into, even when Mary wasn't there, was Mary's fault.

Esther was running down the stairs with it now, Ephraim running after her. Mary was surprised at how quickly Esther moved carrying that big thing.

"Esther, stop!" Mary called after her.

"No! I'm throwing it out in the street and let the cars run over it!"

"No you're not!" Ephraim had stopped and was staring at Esther, trying with fierce concentration to pull the monitor out of her arms. She looked back at him just as fiercely, and he fell to the floor, pushed by her invisible hands.

Eve had stopped her routine and watched the three of them run past her to the front door. She stamped her foot at them.

"You're messing me up!" She screeched, and started the song over again.

Mary got to the front door first and stood in front of it. "No, Esther! Take it back up there! He doesn't have to apologize. Just take it back!"

Esther stood there for a minute, looking up at Mary. Ephraim was behind her, still laying on the floor with his arms crossed.

"Okay," Esther said sweetly.

She turned to walk back up the stairs, but when she got to the first landing, she tossed the monitor over the banister and it landed with a smash on the wood floor.

Everyone just stared at it for a second, open-mouthed.

"I'm telling mom!" Ephraim screamed, running towards the back door.

"And I'm telling dad!" Esther shrieked, running back down the stairs, towards the back door as well.

Mary stood there, looking at the broken monitor. It had left a deep gash in the wood, too. She looked over at Eve, who was scowling at her with her hands on her hips.

"You'd better clean it up before mom sees it!" Eve ordered. She picked up her sparkly baton and phone, and went upstairs in a huff.

But Mary just stayed right there, waiting to hear the sliding door open and Madison's angry heels come clicking across the floor, Ephraim's whining on one side of her and Esther's shouting on the other. Then Madison's Chardonnay breath in her face, telling her how horrible she was and look at what she made them do. Maybe she wouldn't ever have to come back. If she was such a bad influence on her half-siblings, as Madison always said, then she should just never come back again. That would be just fine with her.

But it wasn't Madison's footsteps Mary heard eventually. The patio door opened and she could hear yelling and fussing out in the yard before the door slid closed. The footsteps that came across the kitchen were heavy, a man's footsteps. She could smell the lemony sweet scent of the smoke that exhaled from his nostrils as he stopped in the foyer, standing a few feet away from her.

Mary wasn't sure what she'd expected him to look like, but he was gangly-limbed with pinched scars around his eyes. They were hard to see for his glasses, but the way the kitchen light came in on his face made the scars more pronounced. His glasses made him look bug-eyed. He looked almost like a cartoon character that someone had sketched onto the wall.

He looked over at the smashed monitor on the floor, then back at Mary.

"Which one are you?" He asked, walking over to her.

Mary took a step back. What should she do? Should she run? He wasn't supposed to see her.

"Are you Eve?" He asked her.

Mary nodded dumbly. Yes. That's right. She's Eve.

"Huh," he said, looking her over. "I thought the three of you were the same age, but I guess I must have misunderstood." He turned back over to the smashed monitor on the floor.

"I thought maybe I could fix it, but it doesn't look like it's repairable." He knelt down and picked it up, examining it for a few seconds.

"Nope. They'll need a new one. It's a shame. This one is retina-capable, too. Might be able to fill this gash, though." He rubbed his hand over the knotted pine, looking at it for a minute.

He stood up, taking another drag from his eMorley. The letters lit up in blue on the side as he inhaled. He blew the vapor out and it disappeared into the air as he walked back over to her again.

"I always like to fix things rather than buy new, you know?" He said that to her like they were old friends. "If it's fixable, why replace it? Right?"

Mary just shrugged. She didn't know what to do or say.

He smiled at her. He had a peculiar smile. It was too wide. "You're a lot quieter than those two. Guess it's because you're older."

Mary shrugged again.

He looked down at her for a minute. Mary could feel her face getting red.

"How old are you?"

Mary forgot how to talk for a second. How old was she again?

"Twelve," she squeaked out once she remembered.

"Hmm," he looked at his eMorley, twirling it around in his fingers. "So, you were born around 2027? Part of the Post-Republic Generation?"

Mary half nodded, half shrugged. Why was he asking her that?

"Your generation is supposed to be the best one yet," he said to her. "Not like us. People always told us the Millennials were spoiled little brats, but at least we had decent children."

Mary stared up at him, wondering if this was a Stranger Danger situation.

"Your generation will make us proud, I think," he looked at her thoughtfully. "Uncorrupted and untethered by selfishness and greed, you all will change the world."

Mary couldn't think of anything to say, and she didn't want to just shrug at him again.

"Well," he turned back towards the kitchen with a smile. "Nice to meet you. Eve."

She heard his footsteps, slow and heavy as they exited the kitchen, the door sliding open, leaving a trail of lemony sweet smoke behind him.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _10:22pm_

Once Scully ended the call, she turned over towards Gibson.

He looked at her, confused. "Why did you end it so quick? She can't see me, can she?"

Scully looked at him, tugging at the gold cross around her neck, then she let go of it, standing up to walk around the room. He noticed she did that a lot; just paced around while she talked.

"I know who he is," she said after a while, looking over at Gibson. "I know who Leonard Hosteen is. I knew that name was familiar."

Gibson watched her walk around, waiting for her to explain.

"Albert Hosteen," she began. "He helped Mulder and me once. He was a Navajo, and he translated some documents for us. And he tried to help Melissa…" She paused there for a second or two. "And that train car? I didn't see what was in it. Mulder did. It's got to be the same family."

"What family?" He asked her.

"I think Albert Hosteen might be his great-grandfather, or great-great grandfather. It's got to be the same family." It seemed like she was talking to herself now. "There was a young guy there. Maybe he's his grandfather or father."

"I'm not following," Gibson said.

"I didn't know they did that," she said, looking distraught, like she was trying to convince him of something. "I knew they were there, but I didn't know they did that to them."

"Did what?"

Finally, she sat down in front of him. "Leonard _Hosteen_. It's the same family. It has to be the same family. He's like that because of us. Mulder and me. That was us. It's our fault he's like that."

"What do you mean?"

"We were there. What Mary was talking about? That was us. We were there. Whatever was done to them, was _our_ fault. They wouldn't have shown up if we weren't there. They must have done something to them, and now Leonard Hosteen is…whatever he is."

Gibson sat there looking at her, halfway understanding.

"It was that younger guy, like a teenager at the time." She wasn't really talking to him. She was staring off at something he couldn't see. "That's who Leonard Hosteen came from. It must have been the black oil."

She turned on her TV and pulled up the recording, fast-forwarding to the West Region entrance, zooming in on Hosteen.

"There's a little bit of a resemblance, I guess," she said quietly as she watched. "And you were right about him," she added, glancing over at Gibson. "He's extremely attractive."

She watched the segment on repeat several times, then put her face in her hands.

"How would that be your fault?" Gibson said to her. "You and Mulder didn't do anything wrong."

"Right or wrong doesn't matter at this point. They took that guy away, did things to him, and now he has a descendant that's both kinds. Because of us. Because we were there. Because Mulder saw what they didn't want him to see."

Gibson could hear in her thoughts what Mulder had seen. She hadn't actually seen it herself, but Mulder did and nearly died because of it.

"I guess there's always an After, isn't there?" She asked quietly. "An aftermath, a consequence? And we would just leave it there, and think that was the end of it."

Gibson could see how upset she was getting. He hadn't thought she'd have a link to Leonard Hosteen. Especially not in that way.

"Did _she_ tell Mary about that?" Scully asked him.

"I don't think so. Maybe Hosteen did."

"I don't see how else Mary would have known about it."

They were quiet again, and Gibson checked the time. He had to get going soon. He'd lied to the SRP again, but this time she didn't seem concerned or irritated at all about him taking time off. She was busy with the _Pioneers_.

Legally, they had to have four signatures to proceed with anything. Luckily, Avenham had signed off before his trial; after they assured him he could be in charge of building the hotels on the moon. But they were trying to figure out if a President's signature on anything was valid while said President was on trial for impeachment. It could mean anything Avenham ever signed off on or submitted to his Council, whether it passed or not, wasn't valid. The Declaration of the NAU wasn't clear enough about that.

"And now," Scully continued. "My granddaughter is married to him and having a child with him."

"She hasn't said if she's pregnant or not," Gibson replied.

"She is," Scully said with a tiny smile. "You couldn't see her, but it was all over her face. She has morning sickness. Actually, it's night sickness. That's what happened to me when I was pregnant with William. I got sick at night. It's pretty obvious with her. She was trying to hide it."

Gibson wondered why Mary hadn't said anything yet, but Mary didn't like to tell the SRP or him anything. He wondered when Mary was planning to tell them. She had to at some point.

Scully looked around her small house like she was mentally moving things around.

"I didn't get to see Mary or my other grandchildren grow up. It's my own fault. But I won't make the same mistake with my great-grandchild."

"You really think she's pregnant?" Gibson asked her.

"Yes. Depending on how far along she is, she'll be due in June or July next year."

"Is Monica Reyes helping you?"

"No," she answered as she stood up again to walk around. "David Holdren. You don't know him, but he's William's adopted father. We can trust him. He's a citizen, so he has more privacy rights than I do."

Gibson hadn't thought about them: William's adopted family. Should they really be involved?

"Does he live here in the East?" Gibson asked her.

"North Region."

"And he won't say anything to William?"

"No, they don't talk much anymore."

Gibson stood up. "Well, don't move anything around just yet. I'll talk with Marita. She might not do anything since this is their first child. I'm hoping I can convince her not to, at least."

"But she will eventually. If not with this one, she'll get the next one, won't she?"

"I'll do what I can to keep her from taking any of them, but she has a lot of power now." He paused. "And I think something happened. I think some of those people disappeared or something."

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah. Sometimes when she's not guarding her thoughts, I can hear them. Something happened. I don't know what exactly."

"Why won't she just tell you?"

He shrugged. "I asked her the same thing."

Scully look at him for a few seconds. "What would she do if she knew you were here? What would she do if she knew I was involved in this?"

Gibson looked back at her, then looked away. He wasn't sure how to answer that.

"She wouldn't hurt Mary, would she?"

"No. She needs Mary. And Hosteen, too. They're safe."

Scully came over to him, standing in front of him. It still felt strange to look down at her and see her look up at him.

"Would she hurt you?" Scully asked him.

He didn't want to think about that, but she could. Sometimes he was certain she only kept him around because he knew so much about her. He knew a lot of damning things. If Scully knew about Emily, how she'd ended up in Barbados, he was sure Scully would be on the train right now, blinded by rage, and ready to accept the consequences of assassination.

"I don't think she'd physically harm me," Gibson said finally. "But she'd make my life a living Hell."

"Why do you do this?" Scully asked him, shaking her head. "Why do you stick by her? You know she's wrong, but you stay by her anyway? I don't understand."

Gibson was starting to feel uncomfortable. She was getting too personal with him, and he didn't like it. He didn't want to explain anything to her. Mostly because he'd actually have to acknowledge his reasons himself, and he didn't want to do that.

He took a step back from her. "I need to get going."

"Gibson," she said.

"I don't want to talk about that," he said, backing towards the door. "She's not going to find out anyway."

"What if she does?"

"She won't."

"I don't understand. Help me understand. You don't have to be by her side, working with her. I know you said she saved you, but is it worth sticking by her when she's going to take someone's child away? Why would she even do that? What's in it for her?"

"Power," he replied as he opened the door. "And don't worry about me. She won't find out, and I'll be fine."

He walked out the door before she could respond, but her thoughts shouted at him as he walked towards the train station.

She didn't believe him.

And, what he couldn't tell her or anyone else right then, was that he didn't believe himself either.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _3:03pm_

Mary endured the SRP's hugs and exclamations of joy after she'd taken the fifth pregnancy test. They were all lined up on the counter, all of them positive. Surprisingly, the SRP's excitement made Mary excited, too.

"Okay," the SRP said, her eyes alight as she looked at Mary's abdomen. "How are you feeling?"

Mary felt like she was going to get sick, but also very hungry all at once. Should she eat first, then throw up? Or vice versa?

"I'm okay right now," Mary replied. "I'm a little dizzy, though."

"Well, here, sit down," the SRP pulled her into a chair, then sat across from her. "I'll message Nurse Owens." She took out her phone. "We need to find out when you're due and all that stuff."

Mary sighed, wishing Leonard was here with her. He'd stayed up on the phone with her last night because she couldn't sleep for all the stomach pains. Was it normal to be this sick? But nothing about her was normal anyway. He'd had to push his call through several different connections to make it as private as possible, but it had been nice to hear his voice. She missed him more than ever right now.

His aunts made Navajo remedies for her that he sent to her in the mail overnight. It smelled odd and Mary wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it. Was she supposed to drink it or eat it or something? She hadn't tried it yet. Maybe she would tonight.

"Alright," the SRP said, putting her phone away. "She can see you in about an hour."

"Where's her office at?"

"She doesn't have one. She's coming here."

"Really? She can just carry around one of those ultrasound things?"

"I guess so. Now listen," the SRP leaned towards her. "Don't tell him until she gives you the due date."

"He already knows. I told him as soon as I suspected."

The SRP, sat back, shocked. "Why would you do that?"

"Because he's my husband and the father of my child! Why wouldn't I tell him?"

"Well, next time you wait. Wait until you've seen Nurse Owens first."

"I'm not going to wait!" Mary couldn't believe audacity of this woman. "He's my husband and it's _our_ child! Of course I'm going to tell him first!"

The SRP stared at her for a second, her lips pursed. "Fine. But wait until you know for sure."

"No," Mary retorted. "I'll tell him when I damn well want to, and you can just deal with it!"

The SRP looked her over. "God, you're a hormonal mess already."

"I'm not hormonal!" Mary snapped, then realized she was only proving the SRP's point.

The SRP got up with an exasperated sigh. "I just want to save you and him from disappointment. It would be very disheartening to think you were pregnant and it turns out you're not."

"For you or for us?" Mary mumbled.

The SRP gave her a patronizing smile. "I'm sure the mood swings won't last long. Maybe Nurse Owens can give you something for them."

Mary was ready to shout at her again, but another wave of nausea was coming over her.

"What's wrong?" The SRP asked.

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"Well, don't do it in here," the SRP helped her up and into the bathroom.

Mary didn't get sick, but she waited in the bathroom for a few minutes in case the urge came back. She really couldn't wait to get away from this woman. All her prying and demands. Why on earth was she so invasive? This wasn't her family or her life. Mary and Leonard could manage this just fine without her and soon Mary wouldn't need her at all. But she needed to find out when she was due and when she would start showing. She hoped it was soon, so she could get away and never have to come back.

* * *

Nurse Owens looked very matronly in her white cardigan and orthopedic shoes. Her haircut was very dated with bangs cut straight across her forehead. But her smile was warm and calming, and when she took Mary's hand in both of hers, Mary had the strange feeling that she knew this woman somehow, but she couldn't think from where.

"Hi, Mary," she said with a kind smile. "It's so nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." Mary replied.

Nurse Owens had brought an examination table with her. She'd unfolded it and put it together quickly before gesturing to Mary to have a seat. She opened up a laptop that looked pretty old, but she plugged the scanner into it and scanned the disk in Mary's throat.

She scrolled through the screen for a second or two, before she turned it around to show Mary.

"There it is right there," she pointed to a graph. "The pregnancy hormone – hCG. See that line? It wouldn't be there if you weren't pregnant."

Mary smiled triumphantly. She hadn't really doubted herself, but it was nice to have confirmation.

"How far along is she? Can you tell from that?" The SRP had come up behind Mary and was looking at the screen as well.

Mary turned to her, frowning. "I told you to leave."

"This is my home," the SRP said.

"I don't want you in here!"

"Mary – "

"It seems to me," Nurse Owens interjected. "That Mary's comfort is the most important thing right now."

Nurse Owens was very stern, but not entirely unkind as she looked at the SRP.

"Okay," the SRP said irritably. "I'll just leave my rooms in my own home. For your _comfort_." She left, the door banging shut behind her.

"Thank you," Mary said gratefully. She liked Nurse Owens very much already.

"There's a few things I want to look at before I do an ultrasound," Nurse Owens said.

She felt around on Mary's pelvis, took her temperature, and shined a light in her eyes. She measured Mary's blood pressure, scanned the metal disk a couple more times, and then pulled out petroleum jelly to rub on Mary's stomach.

"I don't like the modern equipment as much as the older kind," she explained as she pulled out a wand to run over Mary's abdomen. "I don't think it's that much better. Why improve on something that works just fine? And depending on how far along you are, we might need to do a transvaginal ultrasound if I can't see anything this way."

Mary was very glad she'd made the SRP leave. She sure as hell didn't want her in here for that.

Mary looked up at the screen as Nurse Owens rolled it around. It was hard to really see anything. It was just a bunch of blurry looking blobs as far as Mary could tell. The images were much better on the newer types.

"Oh," Nurse Owens said after a minute or so. "There it is!"

"Where?"

Nurse Owens pointed to a cluster of white dots, but Mary couldn't really tell what it was.

"You're about six weeks along, I'd say. And…oh my goodness," Nurse Owen's eyes widened for a second.

"What? What's wrong with it?" Mary felt her heart begin to pound with panic.

"Nothing's wrong," Nurse Owen's replied, smiling at her warmly. "But there's one," she pointed to the white dots. "And there's the other one!"

"Other what?"

"Baby. You're having twins!"

Mary stared at her for a second. Twins?

"See," Nurse Owens pointed to the screen. "There's one right here, and right next to it is the other."

Mary stared at the screen, unable to process what she'd just heard for a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked. "There's two? Really?"

"Yes," Nurse Owens beamed at her. "You're going to be a mother of two instead of one!"

"Really?" Mary felt her eyes fill with tears as she looked at the screen. She still wasn't sure what she was looking at, but twins? They were going to have twins? She couldn't get that word out of her head.

"Yes," Nurse Owens said again, smiling. She pulled up a calendar on her laptop. "You're due around the end of June. June 25th, I'd say."

"You can't tell what they are yet, can you? If they're boys or girls?"

"No not yet. We'll need to wait a few more weeks for that. And you might start to show a little bit earlier than if there was only one."

Mary sat there, in such a haze of happiness and disbelief that she barely heard Nurse Owens lecture her on how she had to stop carrying her gun around and get plenty of rest.

Twins.

They were having twins. She had not expected that at all, and she knew Leonard didn't either. But multiple births did run in his family and hers, too. She really hadn't thought that would happen with her, especially not the first time.

Nurse Owens took a screen shot of the image and sent it to Mary's phone. She talked to Mary about nutrition, sleep, and when the nausea would dissipate. Her voice was soothing and caring, and she answered all of Mary's questions patiently and kindly. Mary felt like she could talk to his woman all day long and she'd just met her. Before Mary left, Nurse Owens typed up her falsified report and sent it in, deleting anything that would indicate Mary's condition.

As Mary walked out afterwards, floating on a cloud of joy and anticipation, she sent Leonard the first image of their children, typing 'twins' in all caps with about ten exclamation points.

"Well?" The SRP came up to her from the hallway, expectation all over her face.

Mary's happy cloud disappeared.

"What did she say?" The SRP asked her.

"I'm having twins. Due June 25th."

When the SRP came closer, Mary thought she might try to hug her again so she stepped away.

"That's perfect!" The SRP cried. "You and him did wonderfully well this time! That's absolutely amazing!"

Mary frowned at her. What were they? Show dogs learning to perform for her or something?

"Alright," the SRP said as she took Mary's arm, leading her back down the hallway. "We're going to have to figure out where to put you once you start showing. How much annual leave do you have?"

"I'm not going to be put anywhere," Mary said, yanking her arm away from her. "I'm going to the West."

"To the West?"

"Yes. I'm transferring to the West Guard. Leonard signed off on it already." Mary turned away from her, walking back towards the main stairway. "It was a pleasure serving you, ma'am."

Mary didn't really mean that last part. She wanted to turn back around to see the look on the SRP's face, but she'd rehearsed this in her head a few times, and she liked the part where she just walked away, not looking back.

"What? You can just leave!" The SRP called after her.

"Yes, I can. And I am."

"Mary!"

She could hear the SRP walking quickly up behind her then in front of her to block her path.

"You are _not_ transferring! You are _not_ leaving here. You can go there for a while once you can't hide it anymore, but you stay here in the South."

Mary could see the outrage in her eyes and a little bit of something like betrayal.

"I'm leaving!" Mary shouted at her. "There is nothing you can do about it!"

"Yes there is. I can sign off on it, too, but I'm not. You need _my_ approval, too!"

Mary looked at her for a minute, seething with rage. Maybe she was hormonal after all. She couldn't tell when she was in the presence of this woman. She always felt irritated around her. And was she bluffing right now? Why would Mary need both their signatures? Two Presidents for one Guard member? Not likely.

"I don't need anything from you. I'm taking this to Lieutenant Skinner and transferring and you can just shut up about it!"

Mary pushed past her and walked down the stairs. She felt good for only a couple of minutes before she got a sinking feeling in her stomach. For the first time, she hoped it was pregnancy-induced nausea and not because the SRP could in fact stop her.

* * *

"She can't just leave, can she?! She can't just do that!"

Gibson watched her pace manically around the room. As soon as she'd seen him a couple of hours ago, the SRP had started babbling to him about what had happened and she hadn't stopped since.

"I mean, what is she thinking? That she's going to go ride off on the prairie with him and live happily ever after in his teepee?"

"Wow. That wasn't racist at all," he said dryly.

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

"And did you seriously just say 'teepee'?"

"I didn't mean for it to come across like that."

"The Navajo didn't live in teepees anyway. They lived in hogans."

"Will you stop! Listen to what I'm telling you!"

"I am listening," he replied. "But I don't think there's anything you can do."

"I can disapprove her transfer."

"You know that's not going to stop her. Colonization is happening. And if she keeps having twins it will happen a lot quicker."

"I have explained this to you! Mary and Hosteen will not be able to keep their children safe. They will thank me for this one day!"

He could tell she really believed that. She'd finally explained to him in her panic earlier why Mary and Hosteen couldn't keep their children. It was for their children's safety. That was the main point. Then, just to really drive it home, she'd told him about a group of kids that had been burned alive in a barn somewhere in the North Region by people who were zealously and forcibly trying to prevent colonization. And those children had only been one kind. Imagine, she'd said, what they'd do to children that were a double dosage of both.

That story had disturbed him, and he didn't think she was making it up. Those children were not protected enough, she'd emphasized, and the people she was sending them to were more than enough protection for them. Mary and Hosteen were not enough, especially at this point in their lives with both of them teetering on the edge of a gigantic, law-breaking scandal that might cause their separation. If those people, the Anti-Colonization people, were to know about Mary and Hosteen, both them and their children would be gone.

Nevertheless, there was still much to be explained and clarified. Right now, however, what she'd told him was enough. There were two sides to this, and both sides were ready to fight the other without hesitation.

"So," she said, sitting down finally. "I think I know what we'll do."

"What?"

"Congratulations," she smiled at him, waving her hands at him like she was doing a magic trick. "You are now the Regional Secretary."

It's about damned time.

"Thank you," he smiled back. "But what are you going to do about Byers?"

"Are you kidding? That man has terabytes of kiddie porn stored up somewhere. Plus, he runs a ring on the Dark Net."

"You don't know that for sure though."

"I'm sure he's at least a patron of one of those sites."

"So, he's getting the P tattoo, and I take his place. How does that help anything?"

"You'll need to meet with all the other ones. First Alvarez, then Clinton, then As He Stands. But you'll have to spend more time over there because of Hawaii."

"That's not going to pass," he stood up from his seat to walk around. Dana Scully's habits were rubbing off on him. "You saw that one Councilmember's speech, right? She actually thinks the Japanese sank those islands and made an underwater city. That satellite image probably wasn't even of the Pacific."

Councilmembers did not need education to be Councilmembers. Anyone could do it. They just needed enough votes and recommendations. The NAU thought that the educated, elitist politicians of the Old Republic had destroyed the free world, so why not open it up to everyone? There were no age limits, educational requirements, or really any required skills. Anything that breathed oxygen, could read, could write, and had no criminal, Old Republican, or immigrant history could serve as a Councilmember. It created a very interesting, and sometimes misinformed, mix on the four Councils, but the balance of varied social and economic perspectives kept the citizens happy. And, really, as long as the Councils let them have unrestricted access to firearms and marijuana, everyone was happy.

"Those islands are volcanoes on top of volcanoes. I don't think anyone believed her. Nobody with a brain anyway."

"It's not going to pass, regardless. And Byers never had to go anywhere. He saved a lot of tax money."

"The Mojave then. You'll stay there for that. There will have to be Guard members with you. Mary will go. She can stay in the West until she has her twins, then right back here with you."

"And then what?"

"Then we do all of it all over again. He comes here, she goes there, back and forth until she's pregnant again, etcetera."

"Is someone just going to baby-snatch their children from their cribs or something?"

"I don't know to do that yet. We'll have to find out who they'll stay with. His family probably."

Gibson hesitated for a minute, then went to sit down next to her.

"Let me take them."

She looked at him, puzzled. "You?"

"Just tell me where they need to go, and I'll do it."

"You can't be seen carrying a couple of babies around."

"Then I'll just make sure I'm not seen."

"How are you going to do that? You're going to have the media curious about you and all those stupid memes being shared all over the place. It's going to be a very different life. If citizens were still able to get pictures of Byers, imagine how many there will be of you."

He thought about that for a few minutes. It was more visibility, because it was more power. He'd planned to get Mary's and Hosteen's children to Scully within the parameters of his current position. It would be harder as Regional Secretary but not impossible.

"But she can't transfer," the SRP said. "That's the thing. We have to keep her where we can see her. She's very reckless, and she'll try what she did with Hosteen, not paying attention, and someone will see her or him with those children."

"Why can't we just tell them what's going on?"

"Because then they might not do it. Or worse they'll run off into oblivion with their family and make it way too easy for the Anti-Colonizationists to just get rid of them all at once. Having them all scattered about the Union makes that more difficult."

He more or less understood her logic. It had been the right thing to involve Dana Scully. He was going to have to talk to her again soon. Tell her she was right about Mary and share the news that she was having twins. Should he tell her about the Anti-Colonizationists, though? Maybe she already knows about them. Wasn't she once on that side of it herself? What it must be like for her to be on this side of it now, and have her own family mixed in. He couldn't even imagine.

"When is Byers going to get the news?" He asked.

"I'll go see him. Or more likely he'll make me talk to him through my phone at 1:43pm on a Saturday or some other random time. He might just resign. He served under the last SRP. He might be wanting to retire now."

"He isn't really a pedophile, is he?"

"How much do you want to bet intelligence finds something?"

Gibson shrugged and they were quiet for a few minutes.

"So, where did you go this time?" She asked him quietly, getting up to go over to her liquor cabinet.

"To the Center. I went to the memorial."

He wasn't lying about that. He had gone there before he'd crossed into the East.

"Why did you go there?"

"I went to see Mulder."

She turned to look at him, concern all over her face. "Why?"

"I just wanted to see him. He's Mary's grandfather. Just felt appropriate."

She sat down next to him, offering him a drink, but he turned it down.

"What did he look like?" She asked cautiously. She really didn't want to know. She'd never been in there herself as far as he knew.

"He didn't look that bad actually. None of them did. He's right in between John Doggett and Walter Skinner."

She was quiet, taking a sip of her drink. Talking about them depressed her, because it meant she was really alone. Scully hated her and Monica Reyes probably did, too, even though he didn't know if the two of them ever really interacted.

"The Resin really works, I guess," he continued. "They don't look dead. It's like they're just floating in some deep sleep or something."

It had been truly amazing to see the three of them like that. He'd stared at them for quite some time, marveling over how "alive" they looked in death. Mulder did not look as if he'd been dead for eight years. Gibson had seen flowers in front of Mulder and some in front of Doggett, too. Apparently, he was not the only one that came to pay his respects.

"Sometimes I wish they'd gone through what you and I went through," she said softly. "They'd still be here."

He didn't answer. He could hear she was thinking about somebody else, too. He was sure she didn't wish Skinner was still around. Or maybe she did so she could kill him, like he'd killed someone she had loved, and still loved, very much.

He could see her chin trembling as she turned her face away from him. She didn't like for him to see her crying.

"Are you okay?" He asked her gently.

"I'm tired," she answered, waving him away.

He got up to leave, saluting her, even though she didn't see it. He wouldn't have to do that anymore.

And so, Gibson left, shutting the door quietly behind him, leaving Marita Covarrubias, the South Region President, alone with her memories and regrets.


	20. Chapter 20

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _4:48am_

Dominique had already tried everything to get Mary out of bed.

She cajoled Mary, shouted in her ear, jumped up and down on the edge of her bed, and was going to try throwing cold water on her until Mary whined to her she wasn't feeling well, and she couldn't help her feed the alligators today.

God…the thought of those snakes slithering around in that crate, and then the alligators tearing right through them made Mary's face turn green. She could not stand the thought of it. And the smell of that lake seemed to be everywhere she went. She'd never noticed it before.

"Do you want me to take you to the clinic?" Dominique asked with mild concern as she got ready.

"No," Mary answered from under her covers. "I'll be okay."

But she wouldn't be okay.

Not today, anyway.

She was really feeling sick, but also depressed. She'd gone to see Lieutenant Skinner, and, like she'd dreaded, she really did need the SRP's consent to transfer. She hadn't been bluffing after all.

Mary had barged into his office, with barely a knock. He was sitting behind his desk, swiping through his tablet, looking grumpy. He always looked like that, though. Mary wondered if that was just a family trait. From what she'd seen of his father in the memorial, he looked pretty grumpy, too. Like he'd rest in peace if he must, but he wasn't happy about it.

"I'm transferring to the West," Mary had blurted out, sliding her phone across his desk at him.

"Well, hello, how are you?" He'd said, taken aback. Then he stood, putting his hands on his hips, waiting for her to address him correctly.

"I mean, sir. I'm transferring to the West, sir."

He picked up her phone and scrolled through it for a minute.

"Where's Covarrubias' signature?"

"I don't need it."

"This is an order for a permanent transfer. You need hers as well as his." He handed her phone back.

Mary took it from him, her hands shaking. "Why? It's just me going. Not an entire squad."

"Those are the rules," he said disinterestedly, turning back to his tablet. "I can't approve it otherwise."

Mary just stood there, not sure if she was going to scream, cry, or vomit any second. And she was really hungry, too. How was it possible to be hungry and sick all at once?

He turned his grumpy face back towards her after a couple of minutes. "Is that all, Corporal Scully?"

She didn't answer him. She remained standing, wondering what she should do. She didn't want to accept what he'd just told her.

He sat back in his chair. "Why do you want to go to the West?" He lowered his voice. "Did someone find out about your father?"

"No," Mary shook her head. "He, um, the WRP…he needs more Guard now because of Hawaii."

"That's not going to pass. That's what they're saying anyway." He nodded to his tablet. "And Hosteen has the biggest Guard in the Union. I don't know why he'd need more."

Mary didn't like how he was looking at her. She tried to hide her scarlet face. Maybe if she just pulled her blouse up over her head.

"And to request one from the South? We're in more need than the West."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or so, then got up to close his office door. He sat down and gestured for her to sit next to him.

"Why is the SRP always requesting you? She has you with her all the time. Does she know about your family? Are you being blackmailed or anything like that?"

The look on his face was genuine concern. He didn't look grumpy anymore.

"No. I just…I like the West. And they seem to think Hawaii will pass and the Aleutian Islands, too. There will need to be more Guard sent over there."

"No one is forcing you into this?"

"No."

He sat back, nodding to himself. "You know I can only protect you if you're here. I won't be able to do it once you transfer. I swore to your grandparents I'd make sure no one found out about you. Once you leave here, my hands are tied."

Mary started to feel a little guilty. All these years he'd been switching things around and purposefully leaving out information all to make sure no one knew the truth about her. He had put himself at great risk to do all of that, and he didn't really get anything out of it. Not that she knew. Couldn't she just tell him, maybe? But he might feel obligated to tell her grandmother, then her mother would find out, too.

"If you really want to leave," he said after a minute. "I won't stop you, but you need the SRP's approval. She has the final say in Ceremonial Guard matters."

Mary thought she might burst into tears right then.

Stupid hormones.

He stood up then and sat back behind his desk, his face returning to its normal expression. "You're dismissed."

She walked out, dragging, hanging her head, but immediately went to the ladies room to vomit. When was this going to stop? Nurse Owens had given her an estimate, but Mary wasn't like other women. And the father of her twins was not like other men. And there were two growing inside her instead of just one. Double the sickness. Double the appetite, too.

"Better not be the flu," Dominique was saying. "You won't be able to go to the West with us."

Mary peeked out from under her blankets. "The West? When are we going to the West?"

"Didn't you read the email? It's on the classified side. Gibson is the new Regional Secretary. We have to go with him."

"Gibson is?"

"Yeah. You should read it."

They had two emails, one classified and the other unclassified. Mary's unclassified inbox was mostly filled with unread messages about impending hurricanes and calls for volunteers to help with evacuations and clean up. Most of the islands were devoid of people now anyway; ever since the SRP issued an Executive Order to have people relocate to the mainland, but some citizens refused and remained on the islands.

Mary put her covers back over her head. "I will later."

She felt Dominique sit on the edge of her bed, but she kept the covers over her.

"I talked to Simon. Before they left," she said quietly.

"I don't care about Simon," Mary replied from under the blankets.

"I know. But he recorded something on my phone for you. I think you should listen to it."

"Are you on _his_ side now?"

"No. What are you? Thirteen? But he _does_ have a side."

Mary yanked the blankets off her. "I don't care about his side."

"Here," Dominique picked up her phone. "I'll send it to you. You can delete it if you want, but I think you should listen to it."

Mary heard her phone beep across the room.

Dominique put her phone away, and got up. "Now I have to go find someone to help me."

Mary felt bad. "I'm sorry I'm so sick. I should be okay by tomorrow."

Dominique looked at her, a tiny smile on her face. "I don't think you're sick."

Before Mary could say anything, Dominique left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

That was weird.

Mary lay in her bed for a few minutes, then she got up and unplugged her phone from the charger. She got back in bed and looked at the audio file Dominique had sent. Her thumb hovered over play for a few seconds, but she decided she couldn't handle that right now. She would worry about that later. Instead, she went into her classified email and read the new message from the Covarrubias Administration.

It announced the resignation of James Byers and the ascension of Gibson Praise to the position. Mary figured that Gibson did deserve it. He was around her all the time anyway, and he seemed competent enough. There was a tentative date for his Oath of Office and an estimation for his travel schedule. As Mary read through it, she began to realize what they were doing. Gibson would be in the East first, then North, then in the West. It all coincided with how long Mary had until her pregnancy began to show. She began to wonder if this was all done on purpose for that reason, but that seemed silly. Byers had no idea what was going on, and didn't he have a harem of underage girls in his house somewhere? At least, that's what everyone said.

The traveling to each Region was really unnecessary. That's why they had screens and networks. Gibson could just as easily meet with the other Regional Secretaries that way, but he was making in-person visits. As Mary read the schedule, she began to formulate an idea.

The timing was going to be just right. She would be in the West right as she started to show, and she'd have to stay there until she had her twins. How many months would that be? She counted them out on her fingers, planning, and thinking.

She was going to have to find a way to stay there, and she had a plan halfway formed in her head. She wouldn't be able to tell Leonard about it right now. And, as much as she hated to do it, she would need Simon for this.

Well, maybe.

She thought about it some more, as she put her hands on her stomach. The twins were still tiny little beans right now, and if she wasn't so sick and sensitive to everything, she might not even know they were there. But they were, and they were going to get bigger. Her due date seemed like a long time from now, but it really wasn't.

Whatever she had to do, she had to do it for them. They had to have their mother with them. She couldn't come back here and just leave them. She couldn't be like her father.

* * *

James Byers' "resignation" happened in a room in the SRP's home.

The Regional Secretary's estate was somewhere across the Gulf where Mexico or Texas used to be. Gibson found it fascinating how easily borders could be forgotten. He couldn't look at a map now and say exactly where any of the states had been.

Gibson sat in the corner of the room, feeling uncomfortable and awkward, when two South Guards brought Byers in and sat him down in a chair.

He wasn't fat at all.

He wasn't even all that bad looking. His hipster beard was neatly trimmed along with his chestnut hair. He looked fit, but his skin was very pale and there were dark circles around his eyes. He was a nervous wreck, however, trembling like he had drank several cups of coffee.

"You treacherous bitch," he hissed at the SRP when she sat down next to him.

"Well, that's not a nice thing to say, considering," she pulled up the list of Dark Net sites his IP address traced to on her tablet. "Did you really think no one would find out? And on government property, too?"

"That wasn't me!" He insisted, his voice high-pitched. "Intelligence put that there!"

This was really the first time Gibson had heard his real voice. Most of the time he used a voice-changer.

A majority of the links were dead now and mostly drug related. But there were one or two sites where people around the world once traded pornographic images of children before the Union shut it down and sent the owners off to be executed. The death penalty for crimes against children in the Union was never going to go away.

"You really think so?" The SRP asked him, glancing at the two Intelligence Analysts that had supposedly found this information. They were seated across from Gibson, but didn't look nearly as uncomfortable as he did. He really didn't want to be in here for this.

"You think I'm that stupid?" Byers exclaimed.

"No one said that," she responded, closing her tablet. "But I really think you should retire. Clearly, you've been having some memory loss. It must be old age."

"I'm only fifty-six!"

"Is that all?"

He glowered at her for a few minutes.

Gibson couldn't be completely sure, but it seemed like Byers was lying about his age. There was something passing between them in that moment, a private thing, a secret. Gibson couldn't hear clear enough how old he actually was. Why would he want to lie about his age?

"You've had a good, solid term serving the South Region and the Union," the SRP said to him. "We are very grateful. As all the people of the South Region are, too."

Byers was scowling. He wasn't fooled by this at all.

"So," he said. "North Region or here?"

The SRP looked almost offended. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I know what they do up there!" Byers shouted at her. "They hunt convicts like moose! Up in the Yukon. No one has ever survived it!"

"James," she smiled, showing her white, pretty teeth that had been hard-won by extensive dental work. "I would hope you'd stay in the Region you loyally served for so many years, but you can go anywhere you want."

Byers said nothing.

"And we're leaving the Region in very capable hands," she gestured to Gibson. "He's been doing half your job already."

Byers looked over at Gibson, his eyes widened with surprise and then narrowed with anger.

"You?" Byers said to Gibson. "You did this? I thought we were friends!"

Gibson didn't know why he'd think that. He and Byers had only ever talked through a screen two or three times, and each time Byers was wearing a hoodie or a hat to hide his face. Gibson turned his own face away now, not wanting to look Byers in the eyes. This hadn't been his idea to do it this way.

"No, I did this," the SRP replied. "Gibson does all the things you don't, and he does it very well. It doesn't look good for the South or for me if my own Regional Secretary won't travel anywhere with me."

"Why should I have to that?"

"This job really doesn't suit you. And we'll have a very nice retirement banquet for you. You don't have to attend, of course. I think your health should be your top priority now."

"Health? What are you talking about? I'm perfectly healthy!"

"Your doctors found a tumor in your brain about a month ago." The SRP continued with her well-crafted story. She was very good at this. She pulled up the fake X-Ray on her tablet and showed it to him.

"It's probably been there for a while, which would explain your odd behavior and having no memory of visiting such illicit sites on the Dark Net. You couldn't help it." She shook her head at him in mock pity. "You just weren't yourself."

He stared at her in disbelief as he began to realize what she was doing.

"You just didn't want to tell anyone," she said, nodding. "Which is understandable. You wouldn't want all of us to worry." She looked around at everyone else in the room as if they were just as sympathetic as she was pretending to be.

"Okay, you can stop now," Byers scowled at her. "I get it! I get what you're doing."

She smiled at him, patting his arm, which he angrily yanked away from her. The Guards on either side of him pushed down his shoulders, afraid he was going to try to get up.

"Ow!" He exclaimed, looking up at them.

"I think we'll make the official announcement later in the week to give you some time to show Gibson what he needs to know."

"Why? He already knows most of it." Byers paused, shifting his eyes around the room. "Including the _Pioneers_."

No one said anything, and the SRP stared at him stone-faced for a few seconds. There hadn't been any sort of public announcement, and the SRP hadn't told him. She was worried his paranoid brain might take it too far and start warning people the world was ending or something. Or they might find him dead in a cave somewhere. It wasn't news she'd thought someone like him would handle very well.

"Everyone out except Byers and Gibson," she ordered, not taking her eyes off Byers.

There was a moment of surprise before the Intelligence Analysts and South Guards left, looking a little bewildered.

"You can't be talking about that," she said to him after the room was clear, her voice low and controlled, like she was trying hard not to raise it. "Especially around anyone that doesn't have the proper clearance."

"Did you think I wouldn't find out about it?" He looked a little smug but still anxious. "Our friends in the African Union might be very dismayed that we've kept this news from them. All I have to do is click a button."

"Their space program is years behind ours. It's still new. Telling them won't help anything."

"They have citizens in the ISS. They've come along way."

Indeed they had. The first Africans in space had been a big deal about twelve years ago. So big, in fact, it had been televised all over the world as they were launched into space from the former Ghana, then took over management of the International Space Station from China and India. Ever since the dissolution of NASA, CSA, and AEM, no citizen of North America had been up there.

"What do you want?" The SRP demanded, knowing he was only playing this card to get something.

He pretended to think about it for a few seconds. "Island 1. An estate on Island 1, plus a pension."

"You were going to get a pension anyway. And Island 1 was evacuated a long time ago. Too many hurricanes."

"I know, but I'll be able to manage. I like privacy."

She looked at him for a long time, and he looked right back. Gibson wondered if he could get up and leave without either of them noticing.

"Fine," she replied finally. "If you can find a suitable estate, it's yours."

The handshake agreement between them was very tense, and after Byers agreed to go along with the brain tumor story, peacefully resign, and never speak about the _Pioneers_ to anyone, he was escorted out by the Guard and Intelligence Analysts. They were taking him back across the Gulf to his estate to remove any government property in his home. It would have to be wiped clean and restored before Gibson could use any of it. Not that Gibson would be there much. He knew where he'd be spending most of his time.

The SRP sat there for a few minutes in silence, then looked over at Gibson. "I think that went well. About as well as I thought." She sighed and shook her head. "I really thought he'd be fat. Didn't you think he'd be fat?"

"Did you have to piss him off? He's going to try to kill me now." Gibson said irritably.

"You have a gun, don't you? And you'll be guarded night and day, like me. Besides, you might not need much protection. I think people will like you better than him." She stood up, putting her gloves back on. "And one of those Guards will be Mary. She's a good shot from what I've heard."

"She's not supposed to be carrying guns around."

"No, not the M4. Maybe a Glock."

"A Glock?!"

"Well, she can't be unarmed. She's military. It's _protocol_ , remember?"

Gibson glared at her.

She smiled at him, batting her eyes. "Come on, Cinderella. Let's get you ready for the ball."

"It's 'sir' now," he said as he followed her out. "Cinderella, sir."

* * *

"Congratulations, Gibson."

"Congratulations, sir."

"Congratulations."

"All the best to you, Gibson."

"It's about damn time she got rid of him. Congratulations."

The handshaking and well-wishes continued for about an hour into the reception. Gibson didn't really know who the majority of these people were and none of them really told him their names. They probably assumed he would know them, but why would he? None of them had ever bothered to speak to him before when he was a plain old Presidential aide.

Representatives of the Seminole-Creek Federation shook his hand and indicated that they hoped Gibson would respect Seminole-Creek property as much as Byers did. Gibson assured them that he would, even though he wasn't exactly sure of where their property began or ended. He'd have to look that up later.

He really hadn't thought this would be that big of a deal, but apparently it was. He wasn't used to being the center of attention unless he was playing chess. Even then, he was sharing the spotlight with someone else.

When he took his Oath of Office, there was a large crowd and drones flying overhead, even after they moved the ceremony inside when someone thought they saw a python.

His mouth went dry when he'd stood up there, raising his right hand, swearing his allegiance to the South Region and the Union. He glanced out into the audience, the SRP beaming at him, proud of herself more than she was of him probably. This was going to boost her popularity even higher than it already was.

Byers wasn't there, but Gibson kept a look out for a masked assassin, just in case. Byers was probably trashing his estate right now out of spite. Gibson really hadn't wanted it to happen this way. Byers deserved some dignity, but that was probably why the SRP had introduced the brain tumor story. People would feel sorry for him.

There was a lull in the handshaking when Gibson saw Mary and Dominique walk in. They weren't in uniform or armed for this type of occasion, although there were armed Guards milling around, concealing their weapons under their formal clothes.

Mary nearly took his breath away.

The last time he'd seen her like this, she was getting married. Even though he had no reason to dislike Hosteen, he'd felt a kind of loss that evening. Like he would have to give up on something that wasn't even worth hoping for to begin with.

Here Mary was now in a long, light pink dress, her hair tumbling around her shoulders like a shiny, red waterfall. The world slowed down for a few seconds as a breeze coming in from the balcony doors caught a few strands of it and she idly brushed one away from her lips. His heart pounded like a hammer as he watched her head turn sharply towards the dessert table, craning her neck to see what was there before Dominique pulled her away. He'd never noticed the light dusting of freckles on the tops of her shoulders before, or the necklace with two gold fishes around her neck.

Pisces. She's a Pisces.

He liked the way the waning sunlight glowed against her fair skin, even as she looked at Dominique peevishly and exclaimed she was hungry and to quit grabbing her like that. His gaze traveled all over her face, down her neck, and then he had to tear it away.

Stop. He told himself. You have to stop.

When he saw they were coming over to him, he quickly scanned the room for someone ugly to look at for a few seconds. They stopped a few feet away from him, talking, and then Dominique told Mary she'd be right back. As soon as Dominique's back was turned, Gibson watched Mary quickly walk over to the dessert table to satisfy what her twins were wanting right that minute.

God, the way she made him feel.

He knew what he was feeling now. Songs, artwork, and poetry dedicated to this very emotion made sense to him now. But why did he have to feel this way about her?

Dana Scully's granddaughter.

Dana Scully's married and pregnant granddaughter.

He reluctantly shifted his gaze from her again to Dominique. She looked nice, too. Dressed a gown of royal purple, diamonds sparkling in her earlobes.

She flashed him a bright smile. "Congratulations, Gibson!"

The smile melted off her face as she got closer, grabbing him by the hand and taking him out onto the balcony, away from everyone.

Gibson felt annoyed. She couldn't be doing that anymore. He was the Regional Secretary now.

"You have to tell me who the father is." Dominique ordered.

They hadn't told her that part of it before, and she had been too busy flirting with As He Stands to ask. Gibson was sure As He Stands was going to get a shit-ton of selfies from her this evening, and she was probably going to get just as many back.

"I can't do that yet," Gibson whispered. "Why do you need to know that?"

"Why? Because you don't have to listen to her barf for three hours every night then cry for another hour! I haven't slept! I have to pretend and that's even harder than being awake! And I can't keep feeding the alligators all by myself. She has duties to fulfill! She's not some pampered princess now just because she got herself knocked up!"

Gibson looked at her, a little puzzled by her outrage. "Aren't you two best friends?"

"Yes, which is why you have to tell me! If you don't, I won't help anymore. I don't want her to be found out, or anything bad to happen to her, but this isn't fair to me. Am I risking dishonorable discharge to protect _two_ Guard members? You have to tell me!"

Gibson didn't answer. They needed Dominique more than ever now. He wasn't going to be able to do what he'd done before. He was new to this position, and there was a lot of attention on him right now. He wasn't going to be able to follow Mary around like he had before.

"Is he in the Guard?" Dominique asked. "Can you at least answer that?"

"No, he's not."

"Well, then who?"

Gibson looked at her, unsure if he should just go ahead and tell her. Her eyes widened after a few seconds.

"Is it _you?"_ She hissed.

"What? No! God, no! Absolutely not!" He was trying for appalled, but he knew he was starting to blush. "No, it's not me. Not at all. No way."

"Okay, then who? Please just tell me. I'm not going to go run my mouth to anyone."

Should he tell her? He glanced back inside at Mary, happily eating a big slice of cake. She was eating for three now. She grabbed a handful of strawberries and an orange from another table. The SRP was eyeing her from the other side of the room, her lips pursed with irritation at Mary's lack of discretion. The Guard followed very strict diets that didn't allow for giant slices of cake in order to keep them fit and healthy, ready for anything at any time. Mary wasn't good at hiding things. Someone was going to notice her behavior besides them. It was only a matter of time. They really needed Dominique now.

"Well, it's got to be Simon, then." Dominique said, quietly. "Is that why you were making me keep him away from her? So no one sees them together?"

Gibson hesitated for a second. She'd given him something to take hold of and weave a giant lie out of, but he couldn't do that. He was going to have to tell her the truth and hope it didn't backfire on them later.

"Hosteen," Gibson whispered. "It's Leonard Hosteen."

Dominique glared at him. "Not. Funny. Dammit, Gibson! Who is it?"

"Dammit, Gibson, sir," he corrected her firmly. "And I'm not trying to be funny."

He stared at her, waiting for her to get it, waiting for all the pieces to click together, but she seemed baffled instead.

"Why would it be Hosteen? Is he one of those sex-weirdo politicians that has women brought to him or something? Is he one of those guys?"

"No," Gibson replied, getting impatient with her odd thought processes. "They got married."

"Why? That doesn't make sense! I mean, no offense to Mary or anything, she's very pretty, but _him_? You make more sense than he does."

Gibson felt his face flush. He wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult. He could see Mary and the SRP talking now. The SRP was telling Mary to put the cake down, but Mary wasn't having it.

"You can eat like a horse all you want in private, but not in front of people!" The SRP was fussing at her, looking around to make sure no one else was listening.

Mary said something back, but Gibson didn't hear it.

Dominique followed his gaze, looking at her for a minute. "There is no way Leonard Hosteen and she got married." Then she turned back towards him. "But, fine. If that's what you want me to think, fine. I'll help you. I don't anything bad to happen to her or that baby."

"Babies," he corrected. "She's having twins."

"Twins? Wait, how in the hell do you know all this? Are you _sure_ it's not you?"

He sighed and shook his head. He wasn't sure if it was from impatience or the loss he felt as he watched the SRP follow Mary around the room, arguing quietly about cake.

"It's not me," he replied. "It's never going to be me."

* * *

Mary saw Dominique and Gibson out on the balcony talking. They kept looking over at her and she tried to shield her big plate of food from them. She couldn't help it. She was hungry all the time now.

She craved oranges the most. Oranges and orange juice. She'd gone up to the panhandle where the Seminole-Creek had citrus farms and bought bags of them to keep in her room. She ate so many she feared she might start turning orange herself.

And strawberries.

That made her happy, and she wasn't sure if it was a real craving or they just reminded her of Leonard. It seemed fitting she would crave strawberries, though, and they weren't on the list Nurse Owens gave her.

Nurse Owens wrote out a long list of things Mary couldn't eat or drink. At the top was alcohol and seafood. Mary looked longingly at the glasses of champagne being passed around and wished for a second she could have one. And avoiding seafood was easy. With the Atlantic being so contaminated, there was no way to get it in the South or the East.

But cake wasn't on there at all, and she was going to eat cake like she never had before.

"What are you doing, Mary?"

The SRP's sing-song voice was behind her as she walked over, guiding Mary aside, with a tight smile on her face. Mary looked her over. She always wore black. She rarely ever wore the regional color of green. Mary supposed the SRP really was a stunning woman, even with all her scars. Mary wondered for a few seconds if she and her grandfather actually had some kind of relationship back then. She must have been even more beautiful than she was now.

"What does it look like?" Mary replied, taking another bite of cake.

"Put the cake down."

"Why? I can't help it. I'm eating for three now, remember?"

"You can eat like a horse all you want in private, but not in front of people!"

"I'm not eating like a horse!" Mary snapped, then walked away from her. She walked by a plate of olives and wondered what that might taste like on cake.

"Mary," the SRP followed her around the room, trying to keep her voice low. "Put the cake down! People are going to see you!"

Mary sighed irritably and put the plate down in a huff. "Happy now? Ma'am?"

The SRP smiled at her. "You've got some chocolate right here, dear." She pointed to the corner of her mouth.

Mary wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as the SRP walked away, leaving her alone finally. She wanted to sneak another bite, but she saw Gibson standing out on the balcony by himself, looking over at the lake. Dominique had gone off somewhere else. Mary thought she should go congratulate him now. He deserved this. Especially because he had to put up with the SRP so much.

She walked out there and stood next to him. Lake Okeechobee was pretty this time of day. One would hardly think there were giant alligators breeding inside it. Mary could see a mother alligator with her babies shuffling down the shoreline and wading into the water, their enormous tails flapping at the waves and sand.

"Congratulations, Gibson," Mary said. "I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you," he said, giving her a half smile, then looking back out at the lake again. He didn't seem very happy about this. Maybe it was going to mean more responsibility and pressure. Maybe he was thinking about that.

"I'm going to have to call you 'sir' now, aren't I?"

"It's okay if you forget sometimes. I wouldn't be angry with you."

He was looking at her, but it wasn't really in a creepy way. He seemed distracted by something, like he was miles away from here right now.

"I really miss champagne," she whispered, nodding to his glass.

He set it down, and pushed it away from him. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. This is your evening. You should celebrate."

"I guess," he shrugged.

Why did he seem so sad? This wasn't like him.

"Are you just nervous?" Mary asked him. "About being Regional Secretary?"

"A little. I'm not used to this much attention." He paused. "Not since I was a kid."

"Why?"

"I used to play chess," he looked back out at the lake where another alligator had come up onto the shore, snapping up a snake, trying to escape for its life, in its jaws. Mary tried not to look. She didn't want to get sick right now.

"I was really good at it," he continued. "I always won. I played in front of crowds and TV cameras. It really didn't bother me, though. I was too busy concentrating to notice them I guess."

"So you were like a child star?"

He laughed softly. She rarely ever heard him laugh. "No. Not like that at all. I mean, I guess I was famous, but only with chess people."

"What happened? Why'd you stop?"

His smile faded, and he looked over at her. He seemed to be thinking about how to respond, if he should answer her question or not.

"It's not important now," he replied quietly. "I'll see you later, Mary."

He turned to go back inside, the SRP taking his arm to introduce him to people. He was eventually swallowed up in a crowd of evening gowns and tuxedos and Mary couldn't see him anymore.


	21. Chapter 21

_The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _2:32pm_

The sergeant came stomping through the train car looking a little flustered.

"We're being re-routed through the District of Columbia! Vests on, weapons loaded! Now!"

Everyone swore under their breath, groaning with frustration, including Mary.

Not DC. Why were they being routed through DC?

The East Regional Secretary's and the ERP's homes were nowhere near DC. It was a straight line to their estates by train along the Ohio River after they passed through the Shenandoah Valley. This was quite a detour.

"If they're not in East Region black, shoot them!" He shouted behind him as he continued down the car.

The East Guard had been busy sheltering Avenham through his trial and keeping Regional Secretary Alvarez safe, just in case. Avenham was still polling high and was still as popular as ever, but he was still on trial and it looked like he was going to be impeached after all. So, he needed as much protection as possible.

Then just last month some Old Republicans tried to blow up a solar farm to knock out power and trains into the East Region. They were some kind of militia group; difficult to track and contain as they used mesh networks to communicate and had spread themselves all the way up to the ruins of Ottawa and down to the flattened, irreparable Mexico City. They wanted their countries back. Nothing seemed to deter them, either. Burns had just sent a dozen of them up into the Yukon for their execution, but it was difficult to capture all of them.

The East Guard was usually swarming around DC, slowly and methodically cleaning up the destruction from nearly three decades ago and trying to preserve what they could. But since they had Avenham to deal with and the solar farm, they'd been neglecting it, and DC was now on high alert for militia activity. Trains didn't usually go through when those alerts went out, but they were being re-routed through there for some reason.

Mary loaded her Taurus and felt a little embarrassed as other Guard members loaded their M4s and AKs, quickly taking their positions by the windows. She had to carry around her silly little academy handgun now. Nurse Owens wasn't happy about that at all, but Mary had to be armed. It was her job.

As she put her bulletproof vest around her, she wondered if it was really too snug around her breasts and stomach or if she was just imagining it. She couldn't be that much bigger already. She was going to try to visit her mother and grandmother while she was here, and she didn't want them to notice. But they probably would; they were doctors. She would have to make up something, but she didn't know what just yet.

"Maybe we'll get to see the Statue of Liberty," Dominique said, taking her position by one of the windows.

The Statue of Liberty had been removed from Ellis Island before Hurricane Sally came through, and it wasn't a moment too soon because Sally had been merciless, a Category 5, and Ellis Island was still under water.

The four Presidents had voted to keep the statue preserved. After the herculean task of transporting her, she rested near the Washington Monument, which was still tilted on its side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. There was a countdown site on the Internet people could visit, submitting estimates for when the monument finally toppled over. There was some sort of prize for the closest date, but Mary didn't know what it was. If the triangular tip of the monument wasn't missing, it would look like an arrow pointing right at the statue. They'd covered her in a thick glaze of Resin to restore her features from erosion and remove the minty green color back to its original copper. Mary had never seen her up close before. She hadn't been here the last time Mary had come through.

This was where her grandparents had lived and worked. Probably not exactly in the places she'd viewed from the train. The last time she'd come through, the banks of the Potomac had flooded, spilling into roadways, washing out bridges, turning the area back into the swamp it used to be. She'd seen traffic lights, long out of use, hanging limply across flooded roads; East Guard barreling through in Hummers and operating cranes as they tried to piece Abraham Lincoln back together. Plant life had started to grow though the Capitol Building, its legendary dome concaved, and the White House was no longer white. It was blackened from fires that people said raged for days back then. She'd even seen a couple of bears, toddling alongside the reflection pool, which was overgrown with algae, completely unconcerned about the trains zipping through and the presence of people.

It was probably still the same, except for Lady Liberty and her friends. The heads on Mount Rushmore had been lasered off by robots with the precision of plastic surgeons; a literal facelift off the mountain. The Lakota wanted them gone as they reclaimed and rebuilt their homelands. The heads had been transported to DC, unceremoniously dumped in the battered National Mall, and left there until the Presidents decided if they should be destroyed or preserved.

"Ma'am," the sergeant approached the SRP. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but I'm going to have to ask you to go to the safe room for your protection. We're being re-routed through DC."

He handed her a bulletproof vest, and she looked up from her tablet, brushing it aside.

"I'm not wearing that. Why are we being re-routed? Don't they know there's a President on this train?"

"I'm very sorry, ma'am, but there's construction on the main route. They said they'll get us through as fast as they can."

They couldn't see it, but there was a metal slide covering the Presidential Seal on the sides of the train right now, just in case the Old Republican militia had scouts looking for a Presidential train to blow up. They didn't want to harm citizens in that way. It was the leaders they wanted.

With an exaggerated sigh of irritation, the SRP stood up, Gibson standing with her. "And air travel is too dangerous for us? _This_ is more dangerous."

Mary glanced over at her hatefully, and the SRP looked just as hatefully back.

Why did she have to be here? She wasn't going to be coming along, but then she'd changed her mind at the last minute and here she was.

It made Mary's blood boil.

Burns didn't do this. Leonard didn't do this. Even stupid Avenham didn't do this. They stayed in their Regions and did their jobs. Why couldn't she do that, too? Why was she hovering all over everything and being so intrusive all the time?

"I'd like a Guard in there with us," she announced, looking right at Mary. "Corporal Scully."

Before her name was even out of the SRP's mouth, Mary got up from her position and stormed back into the safe room with them. The sergeant shut the door behind them, locking them inside. The room was bulletproof, fireproof, bombproof, everything proof, and in the event of a train crash, they would be protected. Only the Presidential trains had them.

"Why did you do that?" Mary asked angrily.

"Because in case there is gun fire we need to make sure you're safe and _they_ are safe," the SRP replied, nodding to her abdomen.

Mary ripped off her vest and flung it onto the floor. "Oh, but people might see, ma'am! People might notice, _ma'am_!"

Lightning bolts of anger crackled between them, still strong from their last argument after Gibson's reception.

They'd raged at each other for nearly an hour. The SRP shouting about Mary's thoughtlessness and Mary shouting about the SRP hovering over her and why the hell can't she just leave her alone? The argument immediately turned to Mary's transfer. Mary had tried to keep up her outrage, but her voice cracked with emotion, all because of her damned pregnancy hormones.

"Why won't you let me transfer?" Mary shouted, not caring who heard them, her chin starting to tremble. "How am I supposed to raise my own children and have more if I can't be close to them or my husband?!"

The SRP hesitated at that for a moment, glancing over at Gibson.

He'd tried to tell them to be quiet, went out into the hallway several times to make sure no one could hear them, then he just gave up, sitting down in the middle room, watching them argue.

Mary felt a twinge of guilt for ruining this occasion for him, but she was too angry to think about it too much. The SRP seemed to be considering something for a minute, wrestling with a decision in her own head.

"Because you're too careless!" She decided. "Sneaking around, hiding things, and you don't think! You do whatever you feel like and you can't! Do you even know what you're doing? Don't you understand the enormity of this?! You can't screw this up!"

"How could I screw it up?! I want to be with my children and my husband. How will that screw anything up?! I'm doing what you wanted me to do! Why do you have to make it so difficult?"

"Oh, don't you dare! I didn't force you into this! You could have said no!"

"Bullshit! You talked me into it! Just let me transfer! There is no reason for me to stay here!"

The SRP came over to her, lowering her voice slightly, the intensity in her glowing eyes staring sharply into Mary's. "All it takes is one." She held up her finger. "One time. That's it. One moment, one second, for the wrong person to see you and him together or with your children. Have you even thought, at all, how that might affect them?"

She took another step closer, and Mary took a step back.

"An impeached father and a dishonorably discharged mother? It would be disgraceful! Think of the future they would have!"

"Who cares?!" Mary shrieked. "It doesn't matter! We'll be the only ones left, the only ones here! It won't matter!"

"Eight years!" The SRP came closer, getting in her face. "You, him and all your children can have eternity, but I get eight years! You willingly gave your time to the _South_ Guard, and that's where you will stay!"

Mary's temper flared as she got right back in her face. She could snap this woman's neck, strangle her, without even touching her. In one wild moment, she almost wanted to do it.

"This isn't a fairy tale." The SRP's voice was low, threatening. "His job is to get you pregnant and your job is to have those babies. It's very simple! And you will do what I tell you. I'm the President. I've put in tremendous effort into keeping this secret for you. You will respect me for that! And if you ever want your grandmother to have any sort of pardon or peace of mind, you'll do things _my_ way!"

Mary faltered, taking another step back.

Damn her.

Damn her for knowing all of Mary's weak spots and probing them relentlessly.

Especially this one.

Mary decided right then that she hated her.

She'd been hanging on to a tiny, fragile thread of sympathy for this woman after what Gibson had told her. And she'd felt like she owed her something for arranging her and Leonard meeting at the beginning.

Oh, but not now.

Not anymore.

Mary knew she was going to start crying, and she didn't want the SRP to see her upset, to see that she'd won this round.

Mary turned on her heel and left, slamming the door. Once she was out in the hallway, she stood with her back against the wall, covering her mouth to muffle her sobs. She could hear Gibson and the SRP's voices echoing down the hall, rising to a crescendo, then quieting again. She sank down to the floor, upset that her pregnancy was making her so sensitive and that she couldn't get away from this woman.

She had to get away from her. This just wasn't right.

Had her grandfather really trusted her? And with what? What had been so important to him that he'd cooperate with her? Mary couldn't imagine she'd been any different back then. But her grandmother didn't like her or trust her. Mary could see why. It was glaringly obvious now.

That evening was in between them right that minute inside the safe room; anger and resentment still there. Nothing was settled. It was all about to bubble up again like boiling lava.

The train lurched, making the three of them stumble, as it sped up from 200 kilometers per hour to 300.

Mary did the calculations in her head. They should be out of DC in under five minutes. But they would probably be kept in here slightly longer, to be on the safe side.

"Put your vest back on," the SRP ordered. "You need all the protection you can get."

"Actually, I think you should wear it," Mary replied coolly. "If militia come storming in here, I might miss when I shoot one of them!"

The SRP opened her mouth, ready with a comeback, but Gibson stood in between them.

"Enough! Both of you! Just stop!"

He looked at each of them, as they stared each other down, ready for another fight.

"Listen. We all want the same thing, right?"

"No," Mary said.

"Yes," the SRP said, simultaneously.

"We do," Gibson said firmly to Mary, then he addressed both of them. "We want to change this planet, and we want to make sure it's done right. And it can only be done right if it's done in secret."

Mary still wanted to rip the SRP's head off, but he had a point. Creating an alien race that will someday supersede the people living here had to be done a certain way. Certainly not by talking about it or revealing what they were doing. But why did it have to involve the SRP?

"Mary," Gibson said to her gently. "You _have_ to trust us. Both of us. We are not going to do anything to hurt you or your children. And for now," his eyes shifted quickly to the SRP. "For right now. This is how it has to be. You can't stay in the West. Not yet."

"Why?" Mary demanded. "There is _no_ reason for me to stay in the South. You want us to have children, right? Lots of children? How can we do that if we are so far apart? I don't care if I'm discharged! I want to be with my husband and my children!"

Mary felt like the SRP and Gibson weren't telling her something. The way they kept glancing at one another. It angered her. There should be no secrets. If they were going to force her to stay in the South, they should not be keeping anything from her.

Before any of them could answer her, the screen in the room activated, warning them they were about to enter the District of Columbia, flashing in red a high alert for militia activity, and suggesting they ready their firearms for their protection.

Then the train started to slow.

The lights in the room flickered.

"Why are we slowing down?" The SRP said, trying to hide her nervousness.

Mary began to realize she was solely responsible for the SRP's and the new Regional Secretary's safety. As much as she hated the SRP right then, she didn't want to be the Guard member accountable if the President was injured or killed.

"Here," Mary handed her the vest. "Put it on."

"This room is bulletproof. I'm not –"

"Just put it on!"

The SRP took it and strapped it around her, looking around nervously.

"Where's yours?" Mary asked Gibson.

"I don't have one. I'm armed," he replied.

Mary was starting to get nervous, too. The slower they were, the easier it would be to attack them. Why were they slowing?

There were a few rapid thuds outside of the room.

"Was that gun fire?" The SRP asked, backing into a corner.

"I don't know," Mary replied.

Just then, the three of them stumbled back, almost falling down as the train sped up again.

They were quiet for a time, holding their breath, waiting until they were out of the city.

"We should just nuke this place," the SRP grumbled quietly. "They wouldn't have anything to fight for. Nothing to remind them. Why can't they just let go of the past? They lost. It's over."

"Weren't you one of them?" Mary asked coldly. "Didn't you live here?"

The SRP gave Mary a warning look, but didn't reply.

There was silence between the three of them for some time. Mary counted the minutes, praying silently the militia would think this was a regular passenger train and leave them alone.

"I'm sorry," the SRP spoke up softly. "I'm sorry, Mary, if this upsets you. But you and him and cannot do this alone. You need our help with this. Both of you need our help."

Mary looked over at her. The SRP seemed exhausted all of the sudden, her shoulders sagged as she spoke. She was rubbing her head like she had a headache.

"Like Gibson said," the SRP continued. "It has to be this way. For now. I wish it could be different, but it can't."

Mary watched them exchange another look, and she felt another surge of anger. They were hiding something from her, but she decided just then they could continue to do so. She was hiding something from them, too. She had a plan to stay in the West that neither of them could disrupt. Nothing was going to keep her away from her own children.

Nothing.

She hadn't talked to Leonard about it, even though they communicated in some way every day. He would like her plan, and she knew he would do anything to keep her close to him. He couldn't order the SRP to sign Mary's transfer, but he could wield his power in other ways. Everything from this point forward was Mary's and Leonard's decision. _They_ were the future. Not the SRP. And not Gibson.

But Mary still wasn't sure about either of them, which kind they were or if even Gibson was any kind at all. He didn't seem to be.

When she looked over at him, he was watching her curiously, like he wanted to say something to her, but then he looked away. He wasn't nearly as bad as the SRP. At least he was nicer to her.

The train started to slow again, but only slightly. They had to be out of DC by now. They waited for the safe room door to open. When it did finally, the sergeant's face was ashen when he asked Mary if everyone was alright.

"Yes, sir. We're okay," Mary answered. "Did you see any of them?"

The sergeant looked over at the SRP. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're going to have to make another detour. To the hospital."

He stood to the side so they could see down the train car. There was a Guard member lying bleeding in aisle, another knelt by her trying to stop the blood coming out of her shoulder.

It was Dominique.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2049_

 _9:03pm_

Mary felt strangely calm as she rode the train though the wall, carefully stowing away her Taurus. She should be a bundle of nerves right now, hoping no one had followed her, but she felt fine.

Calm.

Righteous.

And guilty. A little bit guilty, too.

She wasn't sharing a room with anyone since Dominique was in the hospital, so it had been easy to sneak out. Dominique was stable right now. Sedated and a bit loopy, but she was fine. She claimed she'd shot the son of a bitch that fired at her, but as soon as Regional Secretary Alvarez found out what happened, she ordered East Guard into DC immediately. The SRP also ordered Lieutenant Skinner to dispatch a squad of South Guard to help them.

They needed to wipe out the militia so no more Guard got hurt.

Mary's guilt was mostly over the fact that Dominique had shifted her position on the train to where Mary had been. Had the SRP not called Mary into the safe room, Mary would have been shot.

On the one hand, she was relieved and almost felt like she owed the SRP something again. What would have happened to her had she been shot? And her twins? Would she have lost them?

But it should not have been Dominique.

Mary had been to the hospital nearly every evening to visit her, and prayed for her every night. But Dominique told her to stop coming and even seemed to be rushing Mary out of the room at times. She would be fine, but she couldn't do anymore traveling for a while. Mary considered asking her mother to look in on her friend. Her mother had a very soothing and calming bedside manner, but Mary wasn't sure if that was a good idea. She didn't want her father to show up with her.

They were living together again. She was sure of that, even though no one had explicitly said so. What are you supposed to feel when your parents are half-siblings? Should you want them to be together or not? It's a question no person should ever have to ask themselves.

She was trying to push it all from her mind, however, as the train took her to the WRP's Center Place. Each President had one for when they needed to meet in the Center to discuss Union matters. But this wasn't a Union matter.

Mary was meeting Leonard.

They just couldn't wait anymore.

It had been too long since they'd last seen each other, and it would be too long before they would see each other again.

At least, in the minds of lovers it was too long.

Gibson and the SRP had to discuss the _Pioneers_ with Alvarez and make sure she didn't divulge any details to Avenham. He was a good as impeached, and Alvarez would still be the East Regional Secretary when the East Council chose their new candidate. Whoever and whenever that would be. The stay in the East might take a while, but North might be a little quicker.

Still too long, though.

Leonard was coming alone. Mary wasn't sure how he was going to manage that, but he said he could do it. She'd told no one, and he'd told no one. And she felt just fine about it. They were grown adults and the SRP and Gibson didn't need to know, and if they ever found out, she didn't care at all.

If they wanted to play this secret-keeping game with her, she would play it, too. If they didn't like it, too bad. She was carrying the future in her womb, and she was going to do it again. And again. And again. She was the one with the power, not them.

Mary and Leonard would have two nights, maybe one extra, as there was a NAU holiday coming up. If anyone missed her, which she didn't think they would, because everyone would be off, she would just say she was visiting her mother and grandmother.

She should probably do that anyway, but she'd worry about that later.

The train slowed, and Mary made her way to the exit before it had even stopped. She really couldn't wait to see him. He'd told her not to use the main entrance, to go around back, and text him when she was there. She sent him a text in Navajo, probably not grammatically correct, but he'd get the idea.

She made her way to the back of the building, and he opened the door before she was even close enough. Her heart soared up into the Heavens as soon as she saw him.

Mary was in his arms in seconds, kissing him over and over again, her eyes filling with tears of relief and happiness. She'd missed him so much. He picked her up, carrying her into a room with a sofa, too impatient to find a bedroom.

After about an hour of frantic lovemaking, they collapsed on top of each other, clinging to each other, filled with an aching need that never seemed to be satisfied.

Nurse Owens had assured Mary this was okay. Mary had stammered out her question, awkwardly, her face as red as a tomato when she'd asked if it was safe for her to have "relations," - she'd actually said it that way - with Leonard. Nurse Owens had guaranteed Mary it was completely fine and safe. She'd even gone so far as to show Mary a chart of positions they might try when Mary's stomach grew.

Mary had turned away from the chart, shocked, her cheeks burning. Who would come up with such a thing? Pregnant acrobats?

"I'm sorry," Mary apologized for her shyness. "I just…um…I just – "

"I understand," Nurse Owens said with a smile. "Your mother was a nun after all."

"No," Mary replied. "She was raised by them, but she wasn't one herself. How did you know that?"

Nurse Owens pulled up a document and changed an entry next to her mother's name to "raised by nuns" rather than "was a nun." The entry next to Mary's father was blank. Mary hadn't told Nurse Owens about him, worried she might force Mary to have an abortion. But why did Nurse Owens have all this information? Why was that even important?

"I asked the SRP for a family history." Nurse Owens explained. "I have to know your family history in order to give you the best care."

That seemed logical, but why would it matter if her mother was a nun or not? Mary had also been hoping Nurse Owens could tell the gender of her twins, but it was still too early. Mary wanted to be able to tell Leonard face-to-face rather than through a text message. That didn't seem as meaningful.

But Nurse Owens told her they would need to wait a few more weeks to know for sure. Mary couldn't wait to find out so she could choose their names. She already had several girl's and boy's names picked out.

Leonard was burying his face in her neck as they lay there, holding her as tightly as he could.

"I think about you every second of every day," he said. "And them, too." He put a hand against her navel.

"I wish I knew if they were boys or girls yet," Mary replied quietly. "It should be news shared in person and not through a device."

He tightened his arms around her, and she did the same. God, what he did to her. Seeing him always made everything else, each problem, each worry, completely disappear.

He stroked her inner thighs with his fingers, making her want, making her need. He pulled his face away from her neck, looking down at her. She noticed he looked tired, like he hadn't had much sleep. He must be working on that spacecraft for hours each day. The _Pioneers_ were still far off, but it wouldn't be that way soon.

"I need to tell you something," he said after a minute, his face serious.

"What?"

"I saw them."

"Who?"

He drew X's over his eyes and mouth. "Them."

"They're back?" Mary was feeling anxious.

"I only saw them for a second," he explained. "But it was them. Have you seen them?"

"No. Not at all."

He shook his head. "Maybe I was dreaming, then."

"When did you see them?"

"The first time was a month or so ago. The second time a few days ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

Mary lay there with him for a time, wondering what that could mean. Could they somehow sense she was pregnant? Oh, God. Were they going to take her twins away?

"I wish you would have said something. " Mary sat up. "If they are appearing to you, then they'll appear to me."

"Like I said, it could have been a dream."

Mary could feel anxiety churning in her stomach.

Not them again.

What did they want? Did they know she was pregnant?

"Do you think," Mary began. "That all this – the _Pioneers_ and them showing up again – is all related? Like they're somehow doing that?"

He thought about it for a minute.

"I don't know," he replied finally. "But we can't be apart. If they are after us or our children, we can't be separated."

Mary turned to him, putting her hands around his face. "Then I know what we'll need to do. I have an idea."


	22. Chapter 22

_The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2049_

 _12:12am_

"You understand, then?" Leonard asked Mary. "Why it has to be me?"

Mary wiped the tears quietly streaming down her face. She understood. She just didn't want to accept.

"If it comes down to it," he said to her. "If there has to be a choice-"

"There won't be!" Mary insisted. "We can't die! They can't kill us! Why would we need to even think about that?"

He'd had a plan of his own. Actually, more like a precaution.

They were still sitting in that room, naked, wrapped up together in a small throw blanket they'd found, discussing what they needed to do. There were a few moments as they talked Mary could have sworn she heard someone else in the building with them, but Leonard didn't seem to hear anything. She'd been too caught up in passion and relief earlier to really pay attention to anything around them. They were in a library/study. Leonard had turned on one of the Tiffany lamps by the sofa, giving them a little light to see the drop cloths over the chairs and desks around them, protecting the furnishings in between Leonard's visits.

He brushed a few tears away from her face. He looked like he might start crying himself. "We don't know what they are capable of," he told her softly. "And if they want to take one of us, if it ever comes down to either me or you, then it must be me."

She wanted to say no. Absolutely not must it be him. But she could hear Gibson's voice in her head: this was not just about her. She was the one carrying their twins. If there ever came a time when one of those deformed things wanted to take one of them, it would have to be him. At least, that was what he believed.

"And they didn't say that? They didn't say anything at all to you?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "It was only for a few seconds. I thought I was dreaming, but then I saw them again."

"How many?"

"Two or three."

"They know, then. They know what's happening. It's not really me or you they want. They want our children."

"That's why it has to be me. If they ever demand anything, force us to make a choice, then I'll tell them they can take me and to leave you and the twins. Maybe that will satisfy them."

"What if it doesn't?"

He didn't answer her for a minute, but when he did his eyes were sad and his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know. I really don't know, Mary."

She'd never seen him like this or sound like this. It made fresh tears fall down her cheeks when she thought about losing him. Really losing him. Not him leaving because he found out about her family but forcibly taken away from her.

"So, we'll need to plan for that," he said. "That nurse, Nurse Owens, she'll help us, won't she?"

Mary nodded.

He gently tilted her head so she was looking in his eyes. "It might not ever happen, but just in case it does, we need to be ready for it."

She nodded again.

She hadn't expected to have this kind of conversation when she'd brought up her idea to him. The first part of her plan was the easier part of the whole thing. She had enough annual leave saved up to where she would be able to stay in the West until August or September of next year. The SRP and Lieutenant Skinner could grumble and complain all they wanted about her taking all her leave at once, but they couldn't stop her from taking it. She'd earned it. And she would take it all at one time in the West Region; her "vacation" was actually going to be maternity leave.

The tricky part was after that.

And so, for that part of it, she had to tell Leonard about Simon. She tried to downplay their relationship, even though that was pointless. They'd been together for so long. She didn't think Leonard expected her to not have a history, just like she didn't expect that of him. Nonetheless, she watched his face as she talked to him, watching for any signs of him being upset or angry.

"Corporal Doggett?" Leonard asked quietly. "He just…disappeared on you?"

Mary felt guilty for some reason and a little ashamed. "Yes."

"I'm sorry he did that to you."

In the dim lighting of the room, she saw his brow was creased as he spoke. Mary couldn't tell if he was angry or just thinking.

"If you want," he said. "I can have him transferred afterwards."

"No, don't do that," Mary replied. "He doesn't deserve that. I think he's trying to help his family. They don't have a lot of money."

She still hadn't listened to the audio clip Dominique had sent her. She also hadn't deleted it either. She wasn't ready to hear what Simon had to say to her after all this time, but she did need him now. Was it wrong to use him like this?

"You think that will work?" Leonard asked her.

"I don't know what else to try," she replied. "I can't just leave after they're born. I can't just leave them."

She did not want to leave her children without a mother, and now Leonard was talking about if they were left without a father. Mary didn't want to think about it; didn't want to even consider it. Their children deserved to have _both_ of them in their lives. Leonard had no mother in his life at all, and Mary might as well have had no father. She was determined not to do that to her own children. And if these freakish things were going to interfere with that, then they had to just get rid of them once and for all.

"Why can't we just kill them?" Mary asked.

He didn't say anything. He just wrapped his arms around her, laying his head against hers.

"We can do it," she persisted. "We can kill them."

He sighed. "It would only be two or three. Then three more will come, then more after that. What do you think they'd do to us or anyone here if we started killing them off?"

"But there might not be that many of them anyway. I'll ask my grandmother. She's seen them. She might know more about them. How many there are and a way to get rid of them."

"Don't you think if there was a way to get rid of them, she would have done it by now?"

"I don't know. I think my grandparents didn't get a chance to finish something. They were disrupted. Or…I don't know. No one ever tells me anything."

They were quiet for a time, the gravity of the situation slowly sinking into them. Mary wasn't sure what she'd expected. That this would be easy? Aside from hiding multiple pregnancies and children, she hadn't thought there would be more to complicate this, like those things would return and why to just him? She hadn't seen them or even thought about them in years. If it was their children they wanted, then why not appear to her? She was going to have to visit her grandmother and make her grandmother tell her everything.

Later, they lay in a bed in the master suite underneath a skylight. Leonard had all the WRP's buildings remodeled so there was a skylight in all the rooms in the upper floors. He always liked to look up into the sky no matter where he was. He'd even made sure there was one in the WRP's Presidential train.

She'd thought he'd fallen asleep, but he stirred beside her, pointing up at the glass into the night sky.

"Mary Scully is over that way," he said. "You can't see it without a telescope, but it's over that way."

"Can we name one after the twins?" Mary asked.

"Of course," he turned to smile at her. "Each child of ours will have their own star."

She snuggled up closer to him and wished every night of her life could be like this. Aside from freaks from space stalking them and the SRP breathing down her neck. Mary began to wonder if the SRP knew about those things. Had she ever seen them?

"I wonder what kind they are," Mary said. "If there's two, then they'd have to be one, wouldn't they?"

"Maybe they're not a kind at all," he answered. "Maybe they're just something else entirely."

"Then why would they want to take us 'home'?"

"I don't know." He turned to her. "I'm not trying to be dismissive. I just really don't know."

There was a sound downstairs, like someone tripping over something.

Mary sat up. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," he sat up, too.

They both waited for a few minutes to see if they heard anything else.

"We're alone, aren't we?" Mary whispered. "You didn't bring As He Stands with you, right?"

"No."

They sat very still, but heard nothing more.

"Maybe it came from outside," Leonard said. "All the doors and windows are secure. This is government property."

Mary smiled at him. "Then what we're doing in here is unethical, isn't it?"

"I don't care if it is," he smiled back, laying her down to kiss her.

She curled up into his arms, and he pulled her closer, the heat of love and desire sparking between them. It was just never close enough, never long enough, never enough time together. She caressed his face, threaded her fingers into his hair as they made love again. She tried not to think about what they'd discussed; the choice that might be presented to them one day. Instead, she tried to get lost in his eyes as he got lost in her body. She tried to remember the excitement she'd felt when she'd first arrived in the West, believing something good was about to happen. That good was him and the life they'd created together.

She couldn't lose him. _They_ were the future. They were First Man and First Woman, and if anything ever tried to mess with that, then she would fight it. She knew then that if she ever saw those things again what she would do.

She would kill them.

All of them.

Even if she had to do it alone.

* * *

A few floors below them, a tiny, black beetle made its way towards a door. It wriggled underneath the threshold, obeying the gesture from the figure, cloaked in shadows, tapping out the command on their phone for the beetle to return.

The figure picked up the beetle once it was out of the building, deactivated it, and then removed the chip inside its abdomen. The figure, watching around them with blue-ice eyes that glowed, put the chip in their phone and quickly and quietly walked off towards the train station.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _3:11am_

Mary was walking over to him in her light pink dress. The fabric clung to every curve of her body, swishing softly as she walked. The way the sun filtered through the clouds it made her hair shine like silk, like a lovely red halo around her face.

Gibson couldn't believe she was walking over to him looking like that; her glowing eyes fixed on his, her smile warm and kind. There was a small dimple in her left cheek that was only perceptible when she was up close, but he could see it even before she was close enough.

He looked around, shocked to see they were alone by the lake. There were tables dotted with half-full glasses and plates everywhere of half-eaten food. Where had everyone gone? Had they all been raptured or something?

"Gibson," she said, her voice satiny smooth, coming closer to him, making his mouth go dry.

She took both his hands in hers as she stood front of him. His heart was pounding nearly out of his chest and into his throat. Her hands were so warm and soft. He thought about other parts of her that might also be warm and soft. He thought he might melt. He thought he might forget how to talk or breathe.

"I love you, too," she said to him, sweetly, almost shyly. "I know you love me. And I love you, too."

He froze as he looked at her, at her smile, into her beautiful eyes. Really? Does she really know? And she feels the same way? About _him_?

Although he hadn't said anything aloud, she answered him. "Yes. I do."

He tried to talk. "Well…um…I….uh…"

"Don't say anything," she whispered to him. "Just kiss me. Please kiss me, Gibson."

"Uh…you're kind of married."

She looked around them. "Well, he's not here right now." Her smile deepened. "And this is a dream. Your dream. You can kiss me in your dreams. No one will ever know."

"Yeah," he looked around them, too, a little disappointed. "I guess it is a dream."

She was still smiling at him expectantly, waiting.

Oh, God.

Okay, he told himself, just kiss her. Don't mess this up. Don't think about it too much. Just do it. Even if this was just a dream, he wanted to remember it when he woke up; every detail of it.

He leaned in carefully, nervously. She didn't move away. He could feel her breath against his lips as he moved closer, closing his eyes…

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Mary pulled back and looked at him, confused. "What is that?"

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"I don't know," he replied, looking around. Did that noise really have to happen _right_ now?

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Is it your phone?" she asked. She looked frustrated.

"Phone?"

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Gibson opened his eyes to see his phone, the screen lit up and vibrating around the night stand next to the bed.

God. Damn it.

He lazily picked it up to see it was a notification about Hurricane Victor being upgraded to a Category 2. He was getting those all the time now, because he was supposed to manage the evacuations ever since the SRP had made that his job. Byers hadn't done that, but Gibson had to now.

He angrily turned his phone off and tossed it on the floor, not caring if it broke. It was a new phone, more secure, more encryption, more damned emails, notifications, and beeps to drag him out of his dreams.

He lay there for a minute, adjusting back to reality.

He couldn't even kiss Mary in his dreams.

Gibson tried to go back to sleep, hoping the dream would continue where it had left off, but the spell was broken, and he was awake now. So, he lay there with his thoughts, not wanting to begin his day just yet.

They were going to be leaving the East soon to head into the North. He'd been anxious and not quite like himself through most of this visit. It was because of the media hovering all around, following him, and uploading images and video of him with the SRP and Alvarez so fast he couldn't keep up with it.

This was because he wasn't Byers, and they were comparing him to Byers on every news site and social media platform that existed. So far, Gibson looked much better in comparison, but he was worried about what else the media and citizens were going to discover about him. All the other Regional Secretaries had had their share of scrutiny.

Jessinda Alvarez was one half Puerto Rican and the other half Dominican. When she'd first been appointed, social media exploded with a family tree linking her to the Castros. No matter how much she dismissed it as false, it seemed to make citizens more distrustful of her, so she had to pay professional genealogists a fortune to trace her ancestry and publish it. That still hadn't been enough to quell the harsh critics and demands that she be removed from her position and tried as a traitor. But Avenham and all the other Presidents had vouched for her, and eventually the story left the headlines. But every so often her ancestry cycled through social media. It had been recently since Avenham went on trial and since Gibson had arrived.

Sarah Clinton also had family issues. It wasn't the fact that she had a wife and they'd adopted several children together. No one cared at all about that. It was her lineage that was the problem. She tried very hard to distance herself from her own ancestry, which wasn't fake. She was really a Clinton, and people liked to remark on how she resembled that White House intern, even going so far as to publish side-by-side comparisons of their images. Gibson couldn't remember the name of that intern. Miranda-something? He had just been a kid when all that happened. He hadn't paid much attention to it. Nevertheless, Sarah took the jokes and criticism in her stride and waved it all off. Her family's remains were rumored to be locked up somewhere inside the memorial, along with other controversial North American political dynasties, safe from vandals and crazies that wanted to steal their ashes.

As He Stands had fared a little better, but there were a few stories about him having affairs with married women. All of them had been proven false, but it cycled around social media from time to time anyway. Gibson wondered if Dominique knew about all that.

People were too lazy to fact-check anymore. If it was on the Internet, especially if dear old Uncle Bob shared it on his social media page, then it must be true.

That used to make Gibson merely shake his head, but now it terrified him.

What were they going to start uncovering about him?

Because that was coming. He was expecting to see images and video of himself playing chess as a kid any day now. Someone was going to find it. And he really hoped images and video of that one tournament where his opponent had been shot right in front of him wouldn't be dragged out into the public eye again, but it probably would be. He wasn't sure what he was so worried about. Were people really going to dislike him because he'd been a chess champion and saw someone murdered in front of him? That should make him sympathetic, but who knew? And what of that in between time, when he'd all but disappeared from the face of the earth? Would people find that suspicious? And would people discover what had actually been the secret to his winning all the time? Maybe he was being far too paranoid. Plus, he had other things to worry about.

Like Mary.

Besides being foolish and stupid enough to fall for someone he couldn't have – like really couldn't have ever, no-chance-in-Hell couldn't have – he knew about her visit with Hosteen and what she was planning to do.

He hadn't said a thing to her about it or the SRP. He was too distracted, busy, and watched all the time to really talk to her. And Dominique was still in the hospital. Her wound ended up being worse than they thought, and she'd had another surgery to save her arm. The militia was using some type of ammunition laced with toxins that stayed in the body even after the bullet was removed. They were not playing around.

And Gibson knew his feelings were clouding his judgement. Part of him just wanted to let Mary have her way and let her do what she wanted. Because what she wanted was to just be with her children. Was that so bad? And that just made him love her more. That and the fact that she said what she felt, even if it was said to the South Region President. Maybe it was true what they said about red-heads, except her grandmother wasn't nearly as temperamental as her granddaughter. He smiled when he thought about that. Mary didn't get that from Scully; she got it from the other side of her family. She got it from her father probably and definitely her grandfather; ruled by impulsivity and her emotions. That was a definite Mulder trait. Mulder might actually like her and be proud of her had he lived long enough to know her now.

God, the way she made him feel.

When he looked at her, even if it was just a glance, just in his peripheral vision, his pulse increased, his stomach fluttered, and he could actually feel the blood flowing through his veins.

He felt alive.

That was how she made him feel: alive and awake. Like he could feel everything and wanted to feel everything; like he'd been asleep his whole life and here she was waking him up, taking him out of a coma.

But he couldn't feel like this. He didn't want to. How do you _un-_ love someone? Was that possible? He'd never had this problem before in his life. He'd never been in love before.

The SRP seemed to think now that he was Regional Secretary he should be settling down. As if that were possible; as if he had a choice.

Regional Secretaries had more freedom where that was concerned. It was really strange how that worked. This was a very different country now with very different values. Had Avenham been caught sending pictures of his penis to his staff, no one would have batted an eye. But have a family while in office? Out of the question. Funny how that all worked out. Funny how one type of scandal could be replaced with something that used to be so commonplace.

What kind of world is this now?

But there wasn't anyone else he wanted to be with except for Mary, and that just wasn't possible. How ridiculous was that? To know someone is forever out of your reach, but want them regardless? He used to pity others who'd gotten themselves caught up in this type of situation. He'd thought they were very stupid to let themselves feel that way. Now he's the stupid one, and, really, he hadn't _let_ it happen. It just did. Almost out of his control. Why did it have to be Mary? Why not someone else? Someone unmarried at least? And maybe not breeding hybrid super-children that will one day rule the planet. Yeah, maybe not that.

Maybe he should find a distraction. The SRP had insinuated last evening Alvarez might be that distraction.

"You really didn't see it?" The SRP had asked him.

"See what?" He had been scrolling through his phone trying to find all the images and video of him from that day.

He wanted to make sure he didn't look like the anxious ball of nerves that he felt like. But he just looked normal. Stern and serious, but normal. He really never smiled. Maybe he should smile more. At least he seemed to be hiding his anxiety pretty well. This kind of attention hadn't bothered him so much when he was younger, but back then he always knew he was going to win. Now, he didn't have that kind of assurance. He could do something wrong now, and people might not like him for it.

"Alvarez," she'd replied. "She was giving you some looks."

"Looks?" He continued with his searching as he spoke, far more concerned about that than what the SRP was saying.

"Yes. You know… _looks_."

Gibson looked away from his phone at her.

"I think she finds you attractive," the SRP said, taking off her jewelry.

"She's married."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"I think it kind of does."

"Her husband is like twenty years older than her."

" _I'm_ probably twenty years older than her."

"Well, she wouldn't know!"

He ignored her, and looked back down at his phone. He quickly searched for Charles Alvarez, who was probably what a First Gentleman would have been like had there ever been one before the Union. There were lots of images of him with schoolchildren in the East Region, trying to teach them how to write in cursive and calligraphy. And a few of him lecturing high schoolers on the importance of reading and writing on paper. He did look older than Jessinda, but still a nice-looking man.

"You might as well give up on that," she remarked, nodding to his phone. "Searching for yourself? You're not going to be able to keep up, and it will drive you crazy trying."

Gibson set his phone aside. She was probably right.

"I just don't want them to find all that stuff from me as a kid. At chess tournaments."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. And I don't look as old as I should, so what if people start accusing me of something?"

"Like what?" She'd gone into the other room to change, talking to him from behind the door. "Plastic surgery? You can just say what I do: the Old Republic did this to you. It's not a lie."

"No, but…I don't know. With you it was sympathetic. With me I'll just sound like an arrogant asshole."

"You're really getting worked up over nothing. People already like you. You're not Byers."

"I don't want that to be the only reason."

"Still a reason to like you." She came out of the room with her robe on and sat down across from him. "A reason for Regional Secretary Alvarez to like you."

He tried to think about what kind of looks the SRP was even talking about. Alvarez, usually smiley and friendly with everyone, had seemed very preoccupied and annoyed through most of the visit. Even more so when they sat her down and talked about the _Pioneers_ with her.

Alvarez was a short, curvy woman, hazel-eyed, and olive-skinned. She'd colored her cropped black hair a light brown and wore glasses with translucent purple frames. When they'd arrived, she'd worn a green dress to show her respect for the South Region. She'd probably thought the SRP and Gibson were wearing black for the same reasons, but both of them always wore black.

Alvarez had been pulled out of that meeting about halfway through, one of her assistants telling her it was urgent. When she came back in her face was pale, her mouth drawn down into a sharp frown. She'd looked like a wilted flower.

"What happened?" The SRP had asked her.

"He's been impeached," she said sadly. "Effective immediately. They're announcing it tonight."

The SRP had looked over at Gibson, and he looked back with a shrug. This was good news, but it would be rude to say so or act like it with Alvarez looking so sad about it.

"I don't know what he's going to do," Alvarez said to both of them. "This is all he knows how to do. And there was no family. Probably just some woman he met years ago getting revenge for something."

The SRP and Gibson didn't really know what to say. They hadn't thought she'd take this so hard, but she had been very supportive of Avenham, even when he was at his dumbest.

"He was kind of like a father to me," she explained. "He's part Dominican, too. There aren't that many of us in the Union. Most of our people went to South America or they were killed in hurricanes. He really wasn't _that_ bad."

The SRP gave Gibson a look that said: yes, he really was _that_ bad.

"Well," Gibson said, trying to break the silence. "People really liked him. There will be a memorial for him; some kind of tribute maybe."

She'd looked over at him then and smiled. "I'll make sure of it."

Was that the "look" the SRP was talking about? That was the only time she'd smiled at him that he'd noticed.

"I just want you to be happy," the SRP said to him, still seated across from him, swiping through her phone. "I can't get married or have a family. Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

He looked at her and shook his head. At times, she tried to act like a mother to him and it was just weird when she did that. And she didn't really want him to have his own life. Unless it was with someone she approved of, like a damned over-bearing mother would do. But he really owed her a lot. He wouldn't be alive right now or this powerful without her.

"I'm not interested in Alvarez," he quipped. "And she's _married_. I'm not adding something else to the list of what the media will find out about me."

"Since when do you care what people think?"

"Since I've been unable to always hear what people think."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _11:45am_

Mary had expected the SRP and Gibson to ask her where she'd been but they didn't. Gibson looked at her strangely a few times, but he said nothing. They were distracted for the most part. Media was following him everywhere, trying to figure him out.

Regardless, if either of them asked, Mary had her story ready of how she'd visited her mother over the holiday weekend. She hadn't thought it was important to tell them where she'd been, since it was a holiday.

It was Union Day, so most people had gone to the Center or elsewhere around the Union to watch the fireworks, listen to all the speeches, and watch the endless videos of Old Republicans running into old government buildings with axes, chainsaws, and even wrecking balls to destroy every representation of the old establishments. Union Day used to be Thanksgiving Day, a holiday the Native people of the Union wanted gone, along with Columbus Day. It represented colonial rule to them, so the Union eradicated those holidays and put Union Day in its place.

No one asked Mary anything. So, she just pretended everything was fine. She hadn't met with Leonard and made all these plans. Just a nice visit with her mother. That was all.

She decided to go to her grandmother's house unannounced on a Sunday, when she knew she'd be back from Mass. Even though Mary knew she wasn't showing that much, she decided to wear a loose blouse to cover up any weight gain her grandmother might see. Mary still wasn't sure if her clothes were getting tighter because of her pregnancy or because she was eating too much.

She would look at herself in the shower, then in the mirror afterwards. Was that little bulge there because of her twins or because she'd been overeating? She was only fourteen weeks. Would she be looking like this already? She hadn't felt them move yet, but Nurse Owens assured her they were developing just fine. Mary was a little afraid each time she had an ultrasound she'd see a third head or six arms. She prayed and prayed her babies would be normal. Well…as normal as they could be considering what they were.

Her grandmother liked to go to the early Mass, then go for a run, so Mary decided to take the train that would arrive just as her grandmother would be getting home, cooling off, and after her shower. She had a very predictable routine. Mary had seen it firsthand the last time she'd been to her house.

But Mary had one stop to make before her grandmother's. She went to the hospital where Dominique was still drugged after her second surgery, but bored out of her mind. Mary had found a vintage Game Boy from 1991 in an antique shop a few months ago. She brought it with her so Dominique could play Tetris to pass the time. She'd already played all the games on her phone and the television in her room didn't broadcast any good shows. Mary also brought a control that would allow Dominique to play with one hand if she needed to.

When Mary walked in, Dominique didn't seem very happy to see her. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"To visit," Mary replied, a little miffed at Dominique's reaction. What kind of drugs did they have her on?

Dominique's injured arm was hoisted up beside her. There was a digital pump hooked to a needle in her other arm that regulated the pain killers and meds to clean the toxins out of her bloodstream. Her eyes looked sleepy, as if she'd just woken up or hadn't been sleeping much at all. When Mary sat in the chair beside her bed, she noticed all the flowers, mostly roses, lined up on a table on the other side of the room.

"Wow," Mary said. "Who are all those from?"

"Just…um…Lieutenant Skinner and some other South Guards."

"Really? They sent roses?"

Mary set down her bag and went to look at them. There were lots of different kinds of roses: red, pink, white, and the specially grown rainbow kind. That kind was difficult to find; they were only grown in certain parts of the West Region. All the flowers were beautiful and arranged very thoughtfully. When Mary took out a card to read it, she heard something fall on the floor.

"Oh, my God!" Dominique exclaimed. "I dropped the remote!"

Mary turned around, but the remote control wasn't beside the bed. It was halfway across the room next to the door as if Dominique had thrown it over there.

"Can you get it for me?" Dominique asked with a smile.

Mary retrieved it for her. "They must have you on some good stuff." She sat down in the chair. "Do you always want to throw things?"

Dominique gave her a nervous smile. "I guess."

Mary pulled out the Game Boy and gave it to her. "I thought you'd like this. It's really old, too. Like one of the first ones ever made."

"That's really sweet, thank you." She took it and set it beside her, still looking nervous. "So, um," she said. "You can't really stay long. I mean, I was getting ready to take a nap. I just, um, I get so tired now…"

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I just didn't think you'd be here. I thought everyone was heading to the North soon."

"We are, but I wanted to see you first."

Dominique smiled again, but it was a guilty smile. "I know. I'm really sorry."

"Well," Mary gathered up her things, feeling awkward. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Actually, um, can I ask you something before you go?"

"Sure."

"So, when you went to the West all those times, did you see Hosteen a lot?"

Mary frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Just, like, did you spend time with him and stuff?"

"I just saw him in meetings," Mary shrugged, feeling her face flush. "I think he said hello to me once or twice, but that was it. Why?"

Dominique stared at her for a few seconds, particularly at her face. Mary wished there was a special kind of makeup that could hide blushing; she'd probably need a hundred layers of it.

"So you didn't like _see_ him, right?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

Mary didn't know what to say. Why would Dominique ask her that? Because of how she was acting, running off that day when Dominique started talking about him? Maybe the drugs they had her on was making her say weird things.

"No, I didn't _see_ him." Mary tried to sound insulted, but her tone wasn't very convincing.

Maybe Mary hadn't been careful enough in her communications with him. Dominique could have easily over heard a phone call or read a text message that came through when Mary left her phone in their room. But how would she know it was him? He used a different number each time.

"Okay," Dominique said after a minute, seemingly satisfied with that answer, then she forced a giggle, like she'd just been joking. "They really do have me on some good stuff. You should hear what I ask the nurses sometimes."

"Oh," Mary tried to giggle along with her, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy. She'd been very careful but maybe not careful enough. And Dominique knew her far too well; since they were thirteen years old.

As Mary walked out later, replaying that bizarre conversation in her head, she could have sworn the man she saw walk past her, his face half-hidden by a bouquet of roses, was familiar. When she turned around to look again, he'd turned the corner, gone.

* * *

Mary rehearsed any explanations she'd need for why she might look different during the train ride. They'd put the Guard on a different diet; she'd gotten sick for a week or so and hadn't been able to do her runs and eaten more than usual; she'd been under a lot of stress from the hurricanes, and then having to travel with the new Regional Secretary. None of them were completely fool-proof, but they weren't that unbelievable. Her grandmother probably wouldn't question her anyway. It's not like she'd ever really shown that much concern or interest over the years.

Mary was still rehearsing everything in her head, tying up loose ends, when she knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer for a few minutes, but she could hear someone moving around inside.

Mary waited, but no one came to the door. She knocked again.

What was that noise from inside? People talking? A man talking?

Before she could lean her ear against the door to listen, her grandmother opened it. There was a brief look of alarm on her face before she smiled at Mary and warmly invited her in.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," her grandmother said. "I just wasn't expecting anyone."

Mary had the distinct feeling when she walked in that someone else was here. Or had been here. There were two mugs on the dining room table that her grandmother quickly picked up and took into the kitchen when she saw Mary look at them.

"One of my neighbors," her grandmother explained. "Former RCMPs. They came by earlier."

Mary didn't really believe her. There was steam coming out of those cups, and was it just one or two visitors? But that wasn't why she was here. That wasn't the point of her visit.

Mary wasn't sure if she was just seeing things or if her grandmother actually kept glancing down at her stomach when she came back into the room and sat down across from her. Mary tried to cross her arms over herself, but that felt unnatural. Then she just forgot how she normally sat all together. She should have just left her coat on; that would have given her an extra layer of clothing to hide under.

"How are you?" Her grandmother asked, looking her over again quickly, making Mary even more self-conscious.

"I'm good."

Mary noticed her grandmother's television was on, the coverage of Avenham's impeachment was being replayed. He was standing with his lawyers as the announcement was made, wearing a hat with a Panda bear face and ears on top of it, his mouth drawn in a near-perfect upside down U. He kept trying to talk, but his lawyers pulled him away from the microphone.

Her grandmother turned around to look at it, too.

"Maybe it's for the best," she remarked. "It seems like he's in the early stages of dementia."

Mary knew her grandmother had been keeping up with this. Whoever the ERP was affected her greatly. At least it wasn't that idiot anymore.

"Is everything okay?" Her grandmother asked as she turned off the television.

"I just…um…I wanted to talk to you about something."

Her grandmother looked at her anxiously, folding her hands in her lap, and sitting forward slightly.

"Do you remember when my mother brought me here and she asked you about those things? With the sewn up faces?"

Her grandmother frowned.

Mary sighed. "I know you remember. You'd said you'd seen them before."

Her grandmother said nothing, glancing down at Mary's stomach again. Mary grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa as she talked and tried to casually place it in her lap to cover up her stomach. But she was sure it hadn't been casual enough.

"You said you'd seen them?" Mary asked. "When did you see them?"

"Are you seeing them again?"

"No. I mean, yes. I've seen them twice."

Her grandmother looked dismayed for a few seconds, then she got up and starting pacing around. "Their faces aren't actually sewn up. It probably looked that way to you as a child, but they sutured their eyes and mouths shut. They weren't sewn shut."

Mary waited to hear more.

"I thought they left you alone?" Her grandmother asked.

"They did. But now they're back."

Her grandmother paused in her pacing for a few moments. "When did you see them? How long ago?"

"It was about a month ago," Mary lied. "Maybe two or three of them. Do you know what they are?"

Mary thought her grandmother hadn't heard her. She stood at the window, looking outside for a few minutes.

"They're rebels," her grandmother answered finally. "They purposely did that to themselves."

"Rebels of what?"

Her grandmother sat down in front of her again. "Alien rebels. They did that so they wouldn't get infected."

"With what?"

"The back oil."

Mary stared at her, not really understanding. That black substance that she saw go over her eyes sometimes was an infection? She didn't see it much. It wasn't like she could control it. She had yet to see it in the eyes of the SRP or Leonard. She'd seen it quite often when she was little but less and less as she grew up.

"Can they be killed?" Mary asked.

Her grandmother looked at her hard for a long time. Mary almost thought she might be getting angry. It was just something in her eyes that made Mary think she'd asked a dangerous question.

"Yeah. You have to…um…stab them. In the back of the neck. At the base of the skull," she pointed to the back of her own neck. "Right there."

"That's it?"

"They won't let you get close enough to do that, though. Why are you asking? What are you trying to do?"

"I just want to get rid of them. I mean, their intentions are bad, aren't they?"

"Did they threaten you again? To…take you home?"

"They didn't say that," Mary replied, suddenly aware of how out-of-the-blue this was; suddenly aware that her grandmother had no context, and every reason to withhold any details. "I just don't want to see them anymore. I want to get rid of them."

"I'm not sure if you can do that."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot of them, Mary. What you've seen is only the tip of the iceberg."

"Okay. Then what's the rest of it?"

Her grandmother made another quick glance at her middle. "If you feel like you're in danger, you can come stay here."

"Where did they come from?"

"I don't know."

Did she really not know, or was she just being evasive?

"I want to kill them," Mary emphasized. "Get rid of them, and stabbing them at the base of the skull is the spot?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why they would come to me? Why they would appear to me to begin with?"

"They know what you are, I presume. They know where you came from."

"How would they know that?"

Her grandmother heaved a long, weighted sigh. "God," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Why does it have to be my family?"

Mary could feel the beginnings of impatience and annoyance pounding in her pulse. "Will you just tell me? Please? What do you know about them? I don't want to see them! And I don't want my…anyone else to see them either."

Her grandmother shook her head and fell silent, clearly not wanting to explain.

Mary was suddenly angry. Suddenly sick of all this. Why hide things from her? Why do all this cryptic, secretive crap? She deserved to know. She was tired of having so many holes, so many questions unanswered, so many events unexplained.

Mary stood up. "Will you just tell me already!" He hadn't meant to sound so cross or raise her voice; it just came out like that. "Stop hiding things from me! I'm an adult. I can handle it."

Her grandmother sat back, looking a little shocked. Mary had never used this tone with her before.

"Just tell me," Mary repeated less intensely. "You and my parents have always hidden things from me. Please just tell me. Please. They want to hurt me, don't they? They're intentions can't possibly be good. So, I have to get rid of them."

Her grandmother looked torn for a second, on the verge of a decision. She looked around the room for a handful of seconds before resting her gaze on Mary again. After a minute, she abruptly stood up and went into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Making coffee. This is going to take a while."

* * *

Gibson was still standing outside by the back door when Scully opened the front door to let Mary in. He was going to have to duck under the windows to make his way back to the front, and walk down the road towards the train station.

He hadn't thought Mary would be here today. He thought she was visiting Dominique.

That had been a close call.

Scully hadn't expected him to stop by, either, and he hadn't expected he could get away from the Presidential Hotel without a drone following him. But it was Sunday, and media attention was back on Avenham. There were still a few drones hovering around, and he'd only saw one reporter on the grounds out of his hotel room window.

It hadn't been easy, but he'd gotten away.

Part of him wanted to take a second to glance in the window at Mary, but instead, he ducked under it, walking quickly around the side of the house, then jogged down the road.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _4:56pm_

Gibson endured the photographs shaking hands with Alvarez as they posed and smiled inside her estate. She had gotten very good at flashing a sincere smile when needed before her face returned to an expression of disinterest. He wasn't that skilled at it just yet. He really didn't want to see these images. He probably looked like a deer caught in headlights. He couldn't just smile on cue.

The SRP had gone off to make a statement to the press about Avenham. She was being very diplomatic about it. She was able to discuss the matter without insulting him directly, and yet still emphasize that his dishonesty and misleading his Council was very shameful. She'd chosen her words well, and it worked for her. He wondered if he would ever be able to do the same thing.

He'd been asked by a few media representatives already what he thought of Avenham's impeachment. He didn't really know what to say about it. He couldn't just say Avenham was a total idiot and deserved it, although more so because of his stupidity and not because his Council had found a shady way to get him out of office. Instead, he gave a non-committal answer about how Avenham would be missed and he hoped the East Council would find another suitable candidate soon.

After the long session with the media was over, Alvarez walked him outside. "You and your wife should come have dinner with my husband and I before you leave for the North."

He looked over at her, a little surprised. "I, um, I don't have a wife."

"You don't?" She also looked a little surprised. "Well, then if you want to, we'd love to have you here as our guest."

"I think we're leaving the day after tomorrow. I guess it depends on what the SRP is doing."

"I see. Clinton isn't even there right now anyway. Burns sent her to the Aleutian Islands. And I really can't see anyone being in much of a hurry to see _her_." She gave him a look just then that insinuated she wasn't really a fan of Sarah Clinton.

"Is she that bad?" Gibson asked.

"No," Alvarez shook her head and sighed. "I guess she's not, but we've never had much to say to each other." She shook her head again. "She thought I somehow enabled Avenham to act the way he did. I know he was…strange, but he cared about his job. He managed all the Old Republicans as best he could. It's quite a task. They're not easy to keep track of and punish when they've broken a law. But he did it. Better than any ERP, I think."

Gibson wasn't sure how to respond, so he just agreed with her. Dana Scully didn't have that great of a life, but he supposed it could have been much worse. She could have been executed a long time ago. They all could have.

"Well," she continued. "I just thought I'd extend the invitation. If you want to," she smiled. "If not, I'm sure there'll be another time you'll be here."

He smiled back. "Thank you for the offer." He could see the SRP was already in the car waiting for him. It was hard to tell with her sunglasses on if she was watching them together. "I might be able to. I'll see."

She smiled at him again, then went back inside as he went to the car and got inside.

The SRP nudged him. "Did you see? That's what I was telling you. _Looks._ "

"Do you think you're like some kind of matchmaker now because you got Mary and Hosteen together?"

"I think you'd be a lot happier with a woman in your life," she replied as they rode off. "Don't you think?"

He probably would be, but not with just any woman.

"I think you should quit trying to set me up. It's weird."

"How is it weird?"

"It just is." He looked around the car. There were no South Guards with them, but there were East Guards escorting them back to the Presidential Hotel. "Where's Mary at?"

"She's with Nurse Owens," the SRP opened up her tablet and took off her sunglasses. "Mary really wants to know if they're boys or girls, and a blood test might not be accurate enough. More testosterone would mean boys, but a boy and a girl might be mixed results. So, Nurse Owens said they should try to see with the ultrasounds. Still too early I think. Eighteen weeks is supposed to be the best time."

Gibson had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he listened. No matter what might happen in his dreams, Mary was having twins with another man. And she was going to do it again. She was going to sleep with Hosteen again and again, and then get pregnant again and again. She would have love and a family all her life; never alone, never without. That was reality. She was married to Leonard Hosteen; she loved him and he loved her. That was it. The end of the story.

Gibson glanced back at the Regional Secretary's estate, thinking about Jessinda's invitation. It probably didn't mean anything, but it was something. Something to do besides sitting alone in his room, wanting something he couldn't have.

The SRP was looking at him. "So, what did she ask you? It looked like she was asking you something."

He irritably shifted his eyes to her. "Will you stop that?"

"I'm just asking."

"She invited me to dinner before we leave."

"Did she?" Her grin was far too…grinny.

"With her _and_ her husband."

She said nothing, but she was still smiling as she swiped through her tablet.

* * *

And so he went to have dinner with Jessinda and Charles Alvarez, even though he didn't really want to. He didn't, however, want to get on anyone's bad side so new into his position. He was going to have to get used to things like this. It was going to become part of his life now.

Jessinda and Charles had a huge dining room that could easily seat thirty people, but the three of them sat at a smaller table on the balcony, a fire-pit blazing nearby to warm the chilly evening air. The East Regional Secretary's home was like the SRP's home in that it must have been owned by someone very wealthy. And they were probably old money, too, going back centuries. It was an old Colonial, exposed brick in some places, and several modern additions that had been added over the years. There were high ceilings and no central air in some rooms. Charles explained it must have been abandoned during the transition. Abandoned private property became anyone's property, but mostly NAU property.

Gibson was a tiny bit disappointed to see they were a happy couple, very affectionate, holding hands throughout most of the evening. He wondered what on earth the SRP had been talking about. She was giving her husband all the _looks_ , not him.

He'd been sitting with them for about an hour after they'd eaten, just talking, when Charles looked down at his phone.

"I should get going," he said, getting up from the table. He gave Jessinda a kiss on the cheek and reached over to shake Gibson's hand again. "It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Praise. I'm glad you came."

"Thank you," Gibson returned the handshake. "I'm glad I came, too. And you can call me Gibson."

Charles gave him a smile and nod before he left. Gibson wondered where he was going this late in the evening. Were there schoolchildren somewhere that desperately needed to learn cursive?

He sat there alone with Jessinda and wondered how alone they actually were. Hadn't he heard her staff in here earlier? Were they gone? It didn't seem like there was anyone else here.

"I can see it bothers you," Jessinda said quietly.

"What?"

"The media," she took a sip of her wine. "I can see it bothers you having them around all the time. I remember that. But they always find something else or someone else more interesting." She smiled. "Not that you're not interesting."

"Oh," he replied, smiling back. "I'm just not used to it right now. I guess I'm just worried they'll uncover something bad about me. Not that I've really done anything worth reporting."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her legs. "They'll make something up. They always do." He could hear she was thinking about the Castro thing right then. "I was born in Puerto Rico. Cubans and Puerto Ricans are not the same. I don't know why my ancestry became such a problem. And Puerto Rico was part of the United States. Well…just some kind of appendage. A colony." She shook her head. "Never became a state, though. You know what they did to Puerto Ricans, don't you? Back in the 1940s and 50s?"

He shook his head. "No."

"They sterilized the women. Some of them didn't even know it until much later. Government doctors trying to keep the brown women from reproducing. It's a wonder there are any of us here now. And I think this is better. To have it all unified like this. Shared leadership. No colonies or reminders of it."

Gibson had never heard of anything like that before, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. And he knew from personal experience just how corrupt the government had been. The Union had really been a good thing. Would he still be locked up underground in Jamaica had the Union not come?

"Were you born in the U.S. or Canada?" She asked him.

"U.S."

She nodded, watching him with her hazel eyes; they traveled all around his face, down the front of him, then back up again. She looked at him like that for so long he began to feel uncomfortable. He was also beginning to hear what was in her thoughts right then. It wasn't very loud, a whisper creeping into his own mind. Charles had left them alone on purpose. They'd planned this.

"Do you like art?" She asked him.

He shrugged. "I don't know much about it, like artists or styles or anything."

She stood up. "There were some colonial paintings here when the first Regional Secretary moved in. We kept them. I think some of them are forgeries so we can't really sell them." She gestured towards the stairs. "They're up on the third floor."

Gibson hesitated, still seated at the table.

He should go. He should really go and get some sleep before tomorrow, but for a reason he couldn't really explain he stayed seated.

She smiled at him again. "I mean, if you want to. I know you have to get ready to leave for the North."

He sat there for a minute, considering, then got up and followed her up the stairs. Her thoughts were a little louder now. She really wasn't taking him up there to look at art, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.

She took him down a few hallways, showing him painted portraits of 18th century ladies and pastoral scenes of Victorians, before they ended up in a bedroom with more paintings, but the men and women in them were nude. Gibson felt his face flush as she pointed them out to him, filling him in on all the details of the artists and time periods.

She'd been right. The damned SRP had been right.

Jessinda was looking at him with a half-smile as she set her glass of wine on a night stand, then sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked at him curiously, her eyes blinking slowly behind her glasses. He stood in the doorway, unable to walk inside.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow?" She asked him.

"Yeah," he replied.

She smiled, the kind of smile she used when the media was present, but it felt different at that moment. "You look uncomfortable. I hope I haven't made you feel that way."

"No. I just…I should probably get back now. It's late."

"It's only nine." She patted the bed beside her. "Come sit."

He began to feel nervous. "Look, um…I just had dinner with your husband…I don't know if I should…I think it's—"

"It's really okay," her smiled widened. "Where do you think he is right now?"

Gibson didn't respond. He just stood there.

"We have an open marriage," she said, standing back up, removing her necklace and earrings. "He pointed out the woman he's meeting with tonight just the other day. I forget her name but," she shrugged. "It was fine with me."

He still just stood there. Open marriage?

"So, I pointed you out to him. It's really okay. We're very open and honest about what we want. Otherwise, well…I think we'd both just get very bored with each other."

Gibson felt odd, but also curious. How in the hell had the SRP picked up on this? She'd been right. Damn, she was good.

Jessinda took off her glasses and placed them in a case on her night stand. "We don't have to do anything, if you're uncomfortable, but my husband knows why I invited you here. It's just something that we do." She sat down again and smiled at him. "No pressure. You can leave if you want." She looked him up and down. "But it would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

He should go. He should just leave, but for some reason his feet wouldn't move in that direction. He hesitated for only a second longer, then went and sat next to her on the bed.

She looked him over again. "How old are you?"

He thought about it for a handful of seconds. "I don't know."

She laughed at what she thought was a joke. "I guessed thirty-something."

He nodded. Close enough. "Did, um, did you and Byers…?"

She laughed again. "God, no. This isn't a Regional Secretary thing. It's an attraction thing." She put her hand on his thigh. "I won't be upset if you say no, but it seems like you won't." She reached behind him into a drawer in one of the nightstands beside the bed, her warm breath grazing over his neck.

It made him feel something, the urge to satisfy a need he hadn't met in a long time. The skin on his neck prickled and he could feel the sharp uptick of his pulse where her face lingered for a few seconds.

"We're very safe, too." She tossed a condom from the drawer at him, and it landed on his lap before sliding to the floor.

Gibson wasn't sure what to do. He felt kind of embarrassed. He didn't have that much experience with these kinds of things. Most of his life he'd spent in escape-mode or survival-mode. And frozen. That, too. That hadn't left much time for romance. The few encounters he'd had were fleeting and not very meaningful. He really hadn't known what to do, but listening to the thoughts of the women he'd been with had helped. It was how he'd actually learned what to do in these situations.

He studied Jessinda for a few seconds. It wasn't like she was unattractive, and he liked the way she was looking at him through hazel eyes underneath long black lashes. His eyes traveled down the tanned skin of her neck, down her body to her legs that were crossed towards him. She was an attractive woman. Plus, if she and her husband had this kind of marriage, then there was no reason to feel guilty about it, right?

But she wasn't who he wanted. Want but can't have, he reminded himself. He could leave. He could say no and just leave. But leave for what? To go sleep alone and wake up alone? Again. Over and over. A break in that monotony would be nice.

But she wasn't who he wanted.

He took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was Mary sitting next to him in her light pink dress, sitting back on her hands, one of her shoes dangling seductively from her toes.

"Will you stay with me tonight, Mr. Praise?" It was Mary he saw, but Jessinda's voice he heard.

Gibson thought about how he wanted to pull down each strap of that light pink dress from her shoulders while kissing the sprinkle of freckles there. He thought about how he wanted to feel her lovely red hair all around him; fiery red that burned like the fire beginning to blaze inside him. He reached over to brush a strand of Mary's hair from her face. When he did so, she kissed the palm of his hand, then unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt to kiss his wrist.

He felt like he was in some kind of trance. He felt calmer; resolved. He was really going to do this. "Gibson. You can call me Gibson."

She reached up to his tie and began to undo the tight Windsor knot with her gentle fingers.

"What else do you like to be called?"

He didn't answer right then. He wasn't sure how to. When he blinked it was Jessinda, when he blinked again it was Mary.

She reached behind him again, her face and lips only centimeters from his, turning out the light, and leaving a pair of glowing blue eyes in the darkness.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _9:12am_

Mary could feel their eyes burning holes in the back of her head.

She turned around to look at Gibson and the SRP again. Gibson would look away, but the SRP continued to glare at her, a you-are-in-big-trouble-young-lady look on her face. Mary glared right back in a challenge as to who would avert their gaze first.

The SRP flicked her eyes away for a second, then continued with her concentrated laser-stare. Mary turned around as the train took them over the Great Lakes.

There was only one reason the SRP would be looking at her that way: she found out about her meeting with Leonard without telling anyone. Mary didn't know how she'd found out. Gibson wouldn't have followed her, not without a media circus trailing along behind him.

Mary clenched her jaw and decided she needed to prepare herself for the SRP's wrath, but she was going to handle it differently this time and from now on.

Mary wasn't going to fight back.

She was going to play the weak, apologetic supplicant from now until the SRP had to return to the South. It was a new strategy, a crucial strategy. Whatever the SRP said, Mary was not going to fight back.

This was important. She had to make sure the SRP and Gibson believed she was listening to them and obeying them; that she'd finally come around to their way of thinking. It was going to be hard to do, but if she kept reminding herself that this was for her children, it would be a little easier.

The train had passed the North/East border, where most of the media following them had been detained. Burns didn't like them and made it virtually impossible for local and alternative news media to pass through, but the national outlets were probably way ahead of them and waiting at Sarah Clinton's estate.

They weren't going to pass Ottawa, but Mary kind of wished they would. Most of the statues on Parliament Hill were gone and in their place was an enormous statue of the first NRP, Julia Crow Dog. She had been a tiny woman in real life, but the bronze version of her was over 70 meters tall. They'd used blue topaz for her eyes that glowed as soon as the sun went down.

Mary always liked to see it. The carving of her native dress was very intricate and her face was fierce, like a warrior's. She was the only NAU President to have her own statue thus far. The Mohawk and Algonquin that had moved into Ottawa took good care of her. She hadn't been one of them, though. She had been Lakota.

But, like the East Region, the NRP's and North Regional Secretary's estates were far away from the former Canadian capital. They weren't going to go anywhere near Ottawa.

Mary watched the landscape change from the window. No leaves on the trees and there were patches of snow everywhere. A warm spell had melted most of it from the last blizzard. Mary felt nostalgic as she looked at it, remembering her childhood spend here.

And remembering her father was here, too.

Before they'd left the East Region, Mary had approached Gibson and asked if she might accompany the SRP while they were in the North rather than him. He seemed to have been expecting her to talk to him and said she didn't have to escort him. She knew they were going to be in the North Council buildings, where her father worked, and she didn't want to chance running into him.

Gibson was back to being Weird Gibson again. When she'd spoken to him, it seemed like he was avoiding eye contact with her and not really wanting to talk to her at all. She wondered if he had actually followed her to the Center, but she couldn't see how. He was like a media-magnet now.

At least they wouldn't be here for very long. Her stomach did flip-flops at the thought of being in the West in a short time and also finding out about the sex of her twins. She had names picked out, girl's and boy's names, that began with the same letter or rhymed. She'd even been looking at Navajo names, too.

She turned once again to look at Gibson and the SRP, wanting to shake her head and smile at them.

They had no idea what was coming, and, really, since hearing what her grandmother told her, she didn't either.

But, in spite of all that, she couldn't be happier.


	23. Chapter 23

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2040_

 _10:13am_

Mary ran down the quad from the clinic, tears streaming down her face.

She'd held it together pretty well all through orientation and while they inserted the metal disk in her throat. Not even a flinch at the slight pinch she felt as it went in.

But then they started shaving her head.

She bit her lip until she thought it might start bleeding when she saw locks of her coppery hair falling around her. When she saw herself in the mirror, the buzz cut they'd given her, she'd fallen apart right then.

She ran away, bawling, until she couldn't run anymore. She stopped to sit under a palm tree on the base to catch her breath and continue sobbing. Several yards away from her, other cadets were doing drills. They each had on a pair of binocular-looking glasses, doing some kind of virtual exercise. A sergeant was screaming at them.

"Egress! Egress you little bitches!" She threw her tablet on the ground and stormed over to one of the boys, pulling him out of the formation. She tore the glasses off his face and screamed obscenities at him.

Mary could tell they were third or fourth years because of their hair. The girls had long hair pulled back into ponytails or buns, which made her cry more.

Why did they have to shave her head?

Why was she even here?

Because her parents didn't want her around, that's why. Out of sight, out of mind.

She hugged her knees to her chest and wondered how far the North Region was from here. She wished she could run all the way back there. It was so hot down here and sticky. Her shirt was clinging to the perspiration on her back and she'd only just come outside.

It wasn't long before she heard stomping boots coming down the walkway towards her. She tried to curl up into a ball to hide behind the tree, but it was no use. She was going to be in trouble.

A young man, in a green officer's uniform, whipped around the side of the tree, staring down at her. When he removed his hat, she saw he was completely bald, his skin a coffee color, his eyes a cool shade of brown. He scowled down at her, and she braced herself for the yelling.

"Are you Mary Scully?" He asked curtly.

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. What kind of obscenities was he going to yell at her?

He stood there for a few moments, then to her surprise, he sat down under the tree next to her.

"I'm Sergeant Major Marcus Skinner, Dean of Enrollment." He looked angry, like he might rip someone's head off, but his voice didn't sound that way. "Everyone here calls me Dean Skinner."

Mary looked over at him.

"I take it you don't like your new haircut."

Mary didn't answer.

"They did it to me, too," he pointed to his head. "But I ended up liking it, so I just kept it like this."

Mary continued with her silence. His name sounded familiar for some reason, but she was too tense to put much thought into it.

For a time he watched the cadets on the field, the sergeant jerking some of them out of the drill and making them do jumping jacks and push-ups as punishment for something, all the while screaming such language at them that Mary knew if her mother were here she'd be clamping her hands over Mary's ears.

He looked over at her again. "It'll grow back. It's only temporary."

She let go of her knees and sat cross-legged.

"Everything is temporary, really," he said.

She remained quiet. It didn't seem like he was going to start yelling at her. She started to relax a little.

"I came here when I was young," he said as he looked around the quad, "but older than most of the first years. My father sent me here."

Mary ran her fingers over the spiky hairs on her scalp, wanting to burst into tears again.

"Because when I was seventeen," he continued. "My mother was shot and killed."

Mary turned to look at him.

"Yeah. Right here," he touched a spot between his eyes. "She was just out running errands one day. Just a normal day for her. But it wasn't really her they'd wanted to kill. She wasn't the target. I was."

Mary still said nothing but continued to listen.

"My mother was Nairobian. I can't remember how her and my father met exactly, she told me, but I don't remember all the details. My father was white, an American." He paused, twirling his hat around his fingers. "But anyway, at first everyone thought it was political motives. She came from a very powerful family. They came here when the African Union was forming seeking sanctuary. But that wasn't the reason. I guess those people thought I would be with her that day, but I wasn't. So, they just killed her."

Mary looked at him, feeling sorry for him. What a horrible way to lose your mother.

"I felt terrible about it. Like it was all my fault. Maybe she'd be alive now had I been with her." His face changed then, sadness and regret filling his eyes. "My father knew who did it. That's what he kept saying. He kept saying it was revenge for someone he had killed a long time ago, and no matter how much information he gave to the police, the ones responsible were never caught." He paused. "So, my father insisted I come here. He said those people were going to find me one day, and so I needed to know what to do when they did. He said he wouldn't always be around to protect me."

Skinner. Mary thought about that name again. She tried to recall when and from whom she'd heard it.

"My father knew I needed to learn how to defend myself, how to deal with it, when that day came for me." He paused again, longer this time, looking at her very intently. "Like how your parents and grandparents have sent you here for the very same reasons."

Mary's eyes widened. Her parents? Her grandparents? Oh, God. He knows about them? She shrank away from him a little bit.

"I know all about you," he said quietly, a gentle expression on his face. "I talked to your grandparents before you arrived." He turned a little so he was facing her. "They all worked together – your grandparents and my father – at the FBI."

Mary remembered that name then. Walter Skinner. Her grandparents had been very upset when he had passed away, but they hadn't said who he was. This young man sitting next to her was his son? And both his parents were gone now. Did that make him an orphan?

"Now, I'm not like you. I wasn't born the way you are. But there's going to come a time for you, too, when you'll need to know how to defend yourself."

Mary listened. It upset her a little that her grandparents were in on this, too. She didn't think they'd played a part in sending her here. Was it some giant family conspiracy after all?

"I'm not going to tell anyone what you are, or about your parents. Don't worry about that. But they sent you here because they love you and they want you to be ready. That time will come for you. You have to know what to do."

Mary stared at him for a long while. Who would want to hurt her? She also felt fear for her mother. Who would want to harm her or her mother? Would someone shoot her mother between the eyes?

"Did that time ever come for you?" Mary asked him.

He didn't respond. He just stood up, putting his hat back on, reaching out a hand to help her up. "Always come to me anytime you need anything, especially if you want to talk to your father. Don't mention him to anyone. As far as anyone knows, you never met your father, okay?"

Mary nodded that she understood. She took his hand and stood up, following him back into the clinic. She rubbed her hand over her fuzzy head again.

It was temporary, like he said.

Everything is temporary.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _11:15pm_

Dominique was nodding off.

Her head hung and her eyes were closing, even half-sitting, half-laying in that awkward position they had her in. But she jerked her head up quickly, trying to fight off the sleepiness that was beginning to fall over her like a heavy, warm blanket.

She didn't want to go to sleep. Sleep meant dreams and the kind of dreams she was having now were terrifying.

She'd thought it was the drugs they had her on or the toxins from the bullet. It had to be. She'd never had nightmares like this before.

Dominique lay back in her bed, wanting to get up and turn all the lights on. The nurse on her floor had come by and turned all the lights off for her, even though Dominique had asked her not to. Dominique was also afraid the nurse that came in here wasn't always the same woman. She looked different sometimes. Sometimes her eyes were rounder and bigger. Sometimes her voice sounded like it was robotic. But it had to be the same woman. Was all this shit they were giving her making her hallucinate, too?

And she kept asking Dominique questions about her visitors.

"Who is that red-headed girl that keeps coming here?" The nurse asked the other day, pushing buttons on the digital pump to make sure the mix of drugs was correct.

"Who?" Dominique asked.

"The red-headed girl. What's her name?"

Something about this gave Dominique a bad feeling. "She's a friend. From the Guard."

The nurse pushed Dominique up and arranged her pillows under her head. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No," Dominique watched her carefully. She even moved…wrong. "Can you take me off some of this stuff now? I don't like how it makes me feel."

The nurse sat down next to her, looking concerned. "How do you feel?"

"It makes everything look weird. And I keep having these dreams. They're really starting to scare me."

The first one, a few nights ago, three dark figures stood around her bed, their heads bent at unnatural angles, their arms and legs bowed outwards in inhuman ways, their eyes flashing at her in an icy-blue color. Dominique woke up in a fit of terror and screaming, and the doctor sedated her. The creatures looked otherworldly, unearthly. But things like that didn't exist. Extraterrestrials was just some lie the Old Republic made up to justify all their pointless space programs. All the problems were here on Earth, not out in the Universe.

But each time she dreamed, the creatures got closer, hanging from the ceiling, crawling on the floor up to her bed. It was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen.

"Please take me off of them," she begged. "I feel better now. I don't need this much anymore, do I?"

The nurse patted her hand. "I'll talk to your doctor, okay?"

"Okay."

"And, uh…who's that man that comes here to see you?"

"What?" Dominique started to feel a little panicked. Jemaine really tried to disguise himself each time he came to see her, always bringing her roses. He promised he'd come see her as much as he could, and when he couldn't he had the roses delivered to her. She really hadn't thought they'd start liking each other this much, but it was becoming much more than that.

"The man that comes here?" The nurse asked again.

"Oh, um…another friend. From the Guard."

The nurse nodded like she understood then left.

Dominique turned to look at the red numbers of the clock in her room. The dots in between the hour and minutes blinked hypnotically, making her eyes heavy. Maybe if she just slept for a few minutes, not long, not long enough to dream, then woke herself up it would be okay. She felt around for her phone, yanking it off the charger, and set an alarm for ten minutes from now.

She let her eyes close, then drifted off to sleep.

She would not wake up.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _12:23pm_

Sarah Clinton stood at the entrance to her estate. She had long blonde hair, parted in the middle, the ends nearly touching her hips. She watched them pull around through steel-colored eyes, surrounded by North Guard.

The SRP scoffed. "Look at her wearing blue. On purpose, I bet."

"And look at us wearing black," Gibson said, but at least he was wearing a blue tie. He'd tried.

"She knows I always wear black. I think the whole wearing the Regional colors thing is silly anyway. Who cares?"

"Then what does it matter that she's wearing blue?"

"She's a Clinton. She should know better."

Gibson eyed the SRP's outfit. "You're going to make me look bad."

"I told you. I know what I'm doing. I've been in this game a lot longer than you."

"Just don't embarrass me."

She scoffed again. "Really? You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me! You wouldn't have this position without me!" Then she smiled secretively at him, lowering her voice. "You wouldn't have had Alvarez if it wasn't for me."

"I told you to shut up about it already!"

When he'd seen the SRP that morning, before they'd left the East, she seemed to be absorbed in her phone, not saying much to him at all. But then she gave him a knowing sideways glance as they walked out towards the motorcade. "You got back awful late last night. Or I guess it was early this morning. The sun was up."

He whipped his head over to look at her.

"I guess there was a nice dessert after dinner. Too good to resist."

"Stop it," he grumbled, but his face was burning.

She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I was right, wasn't I?"

He said nothing. She was right and she knew it, so why did he need to confirm it?

"I'm always right," she said triumphantly.

"You're not always right," he said bitterly.

She stopped and turned around to him. "Let's see. I was right about Mary cooperating." She counted each point out on her fingers. "I was right about Alvarez. I was right about those Anti-Colonization people. And I was right about that Amish girl."

Gibson stared at her, a knot forming in his stomach. He'd forgotten all about that girl.

He hung his head. "Now you're just being mean."

She looked at how hurt he was at the memory. Her smile faded. "I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing his arm. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

He'd forgotten about the Amish girl. He had a brief recollection of her walking alongside him, the strings of her bonnet undone and fluttering gracefully in the breeze. He'd almost stayed with the Amish, become one of them, for her.

"I'm sorry," the SRP said softly. "I really am. I shouldn't have brought that up." She smiled again, a meaningful smile. "But I was right about her, wasn't I?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "You were."

They made their way to the car where Mary and another South Guard opened the doors for them. Gibson avoided looking at Mary, turning his face away from her.

He felt like he couldn't look at Mary now. It made him feel guilty for some reason. He felt like he'd done something very wrong last night. He'd slept with a married woman while imagining she was another married woman. But how could it have been wrong if Jessinda and her husband had that kind of an arrangement?

It had been easy to pretend the woman on top of him – then underneath him, then back on top of him again – was Mary. The room was mostly dark except for a little moonlight coming in through the shades, so he'd been able to turn Jessinda into Mary for a little while. But the things Jessinda had said to him, things that had been appropriate in that setting but made his face burn now, were not things Mary would have said.

He'd actually felt good afterwards. Relieved. Satisfied.

Jessinda had lain beside him after they were both spent, panting, with a look of utter astonishment on her face.

He'd smiled at her, just as breathless as she was. "What?"

A smile crept over her face. "I just…I just didn't expect… _that_."

"Expect what?" But he knew what.

Jessinda moved over to him laying her chin on his chest to look at him. "I don't know. It was just like…it was like you were reading my mind or something."

Before he left, she'd said they should have another "meeting" the next time he was in the East or she was in the South. He'd agreed. But now he wasn't so sure if he would do that again.

Gibson got out of the car at Sarah's estate, and felt a little pang of irritation as the SRP walked up to Sarah alongside him. She was treating him as if he was a child that needed her guidance to shake hands with someone.

Sarah held out her hand to him, looking unhappy about all this. "Mr. Praise."

"Ms. Clinton," he returned her weak handshake, and thought he should tell her she could call him Gibson, but the way she was looking at him made him change his mind. It made him feel tense. He'd really tried hard not to offend her.

He'd chosen his clothing very carefully and made sure even the cologne he wore wasn't tested on animals. He chose fake-leather shoes and made sure every fiber of the suit he wore was synthetic or came from plants. Sarah and Burns were notorious for their aggressive animal rights beliefs. Both of them didn't hesitate to fire members of their staff caught wearing, using, or eating something that came from an animal.

Because of them, the North Guard ate a 100% vegan diet. Gibson had to admit they did look very healthy, but he was sure some of them cheated on their diet at times. Burns was still trying to convince the other Presidents to enforce the same eating habits on their Guard, but it hadn't happened yet. Hosteen was especially resistant, saying his people survived just fine for thousands of years eating meat and he wasn't going to change that now.

Sarah shifted her eyes angrily to the SRP standing behind him. "President Covarrubias."

"Hello, Sarah!" The SRP replied brightly.

She'd purposely worn a wool coat with fur-lined boots to piss Sarah off. Gibson couldn't believe it when he saw what the SRP was wearing. She was literally going out of her way to be offensive.

Sarah turned from them abruptly, and marched towards the entrance of her home, clearly wanting him to follow her rather than walk alongside her.

"I'll take you to the Council buildings tomorrow or the day after," Sarah said dully. "Thought you and President Covarrubias could use a rest here."

She wasn't going to make them stay in the Presidential Hotel and that was different. He wondered why she would do that.

Sarah turned to look behind her and Gibson as they walked. There was an army of media tapping frantically on their devices to take pictures of them and reporters making announcements in front of cameras. There were no media drones up in the North Region. Burns gave permission to his Guard to shoot them down if they saw one.

"All this for you?" She eyed Gibson suspiciously.

"I guess it's because I'm not Byers," he replied.

She looked at him, then turned her head forwards. "I was sorry to hear about it."

"About what?"

"His brain tumor," she said coldly. "I was sorry to hear he was in such bad health."

"Oh, yeah," Gibson agreed, remembering that meeting. "But he's doing okay now."

More than okay. Byers had added Gibson's classified and unclassified email accounts to all kinds of lists that Gibson didn't think were necessary just to annoy the shit out of him. And Gibson was sure Byers was laughing the whole time as he did it in his new home on Island 1. Gibson was going to have to ask his new staff to do a sweep for cameras or bugs in the South Regional Secretary's home when he got back. Byers probably left an artillery of spying devices everywhere.

Sarah held the door open to her house for Gibson to walk inside, but she stopped the SRP. "You're going to have to remove those before you come into _my_ home, ma'am."

The SRP stood there for a few seconds, then with a cruel smile and without taking her eyes away from Sarah, she shimmied out of her wool coat and pulled off her fur-lined boots, leaving her with socked feet, shoving the clothes into Mary's arms.

"Look at all the sheep and foxes we have saved!" The SRP gave her bright, exaggerated smile as she walked inside.

Mary stood there holding her coat and boots, looking stunned as everyone else walked passed her inside. "Wait. Am – am I going to have to stand out here all day with these now?"

"Here," a North Guard came over to her, taking the clothes away. "I'll take care of it." He held them away from him like they were garbage.

Gibson held the door open to let Mary inside, but turned away from her when she gave him a quick grateful look.

He had to stop thinking about her; especially in _that_ kind of way. When she'd approached him earlier that morning, asking if she could accompany the SRP rather than him, he knew why and had expected her to ask him. But he stepped away from her, avoiding eye contact with her, trying to get the images he conjured up of her the night before out of his head. He could tell she was completely baffled by his behavior, but it didn't matter. Nothing he did was ever going to change how hopeless this situation was.

Sarah's home was already decorated for Christmas, a giant tree in the front room, all lit up, and with gifts for her children already under it. Gibson noted she lived in a Post-Transition SmartHome. SmartHomes were more common in the North Region than anywhere else in the Union because energy needs in the North were higher. Rather than getting warmer, it was getting colder, snowfall coming down in May or June sometimes. SmartHomes regulated and conserved energy based on the screwed up weather patterns, and provided alerts more efficiently and accurately than any meteorologist.

Gibson looked at the gifts under the tree. He wasn't sure how many children Sarah had now. She and her wife had adopted orphans from all over the Union. Most of them orphaned when their families were killed in hurricanes. He guessed maybe that was one reason she and the SRP hated each other. Sarah took in the orphaned children that the SRP should have taken care of. It was meant to be an insult to her administration.

"Our tree was grown just a few miles from here," Sarah said proudly. "They use only organic methods to grow their trees. And the ones they don't sell, they cut up for firewood for the poor families living here. My wife and I have already asked them to do the same for our tree after the holidays."

"That's very kind of you, Sarah!" The SRP piped up cheerfully, still walking around with no shoes. "So conservative. It's important not to waste things. You're just like your great-grandmother. She liked to save her dresses."

Sarah's nostrils flared with rage and if her eyes had been knives, they would be stabbing the SRP right through the heart at that moment. Apparently she was more sensitive to this issue than she let on.

"I have some rooms ready for you and your Guard upstairs," Sarah said to Gibson. He could tell she was really having to restrain herself from pouncing on the SRP and choking her. "My family isn't here. They've gone to the West. Please make yourselves at home."

Sarah turned away from them and walked off. Gibson turned to the SRP.

"She's going to hate me now," he growled at her.

"I told you," she said with another bright smile. "I know what I'm doing."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _9:55pm_

Mary stifled a yawn as the SRP's fist came down on the coffee table in between them with a loud slam, making her jump. When she pulled her hand away, there was a microchip sitting there. Mary could tell she was enraged, her glowing eyes dilated. Mary even thought she saw the black oil move over them, but she couldn't be sure.

"Do you know what that is?" The SRP asked her through clenched teeth.

Mary fought the urge to lean forward and say something about how it was a microchip and to quit talking to her like she's an idiot. Instead, Mary shook her head fearfully, sitting back a little bit.

"That," the SRP pointed at the chip. "Just cost me forty grand! That," she sat forward, nearly coming up out of her seat, her voice raising, "would have ruined everything! THAT is your fault!"

Mary looked down at the chip then at her. She wasn't sure what the SRP was talking about. Should she pretend to cower? She looked over at Gibson who was standing by one of the windows, watching snowfall, his arms crossed. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then quickly looked away.

"My fault?" Mary asked quietly, trying to swallow the impulse to yell back.

"Yes! Your little meeting with Hosteen, after I _told_ you, _ordered_ you, not to do that anymore, was recorded! Everything! All of it!"

Mary felt her face flush. All of it? Since they'd thought no one was there, they hadn't been very quiet during all their intimate moments.

"Yes, that's right," the SRP stood, noticing Mary's red face. "They got _everything_!"

Mary's hands were beginning to shake, but instead of hiding it she pressed them to her stomach. She resisted the impulse to reach back and unzip her skirt. God, her clothes were so tight now. She was going to be a whale long before the third trimester.

So, someone had been there after all. The SRP was right; they were not careful enough. Who would have been there? But anyone could have followed either one of them, especially him. She did actually feel guilty about it now.

"It is lucky, very luck for you, Mary, that his was intercepted before it was broadcast all over the Union!" She stared down at Mary, fists clenched. "I told you this would happen! How could you be so goddamned stupid?!"

Mary wanted to get in her face so bad and scream about how this wasn't _all_ her fault. Leonard had been there, too. Why was the blame always on her? But she resisted, pushing the compulsion down deep inside her.

She held her eyes open until they stung and fake tears spilled out of them. She made her chin tremble. "I'm so sorry!" She hung her head for added effect.

The SRP was silent for a few moments, and Mary could sense her turning around to exchange looks with Gibson.

Mary wanted to look up and see it, but she brushed the fake tears away and sniffed. "You were right, okay? You were right. We shouldn't have done that."

The SRP sat back down. She'd been ready for a fight. "Of course, I was right." Her voice was as cold as the weather outside, but she wasn't yelling anymore.

"I'm so sorry," Mary said again, holding her eyes open for more fake tears. She babbled about how she just wanted to see him and this pregnancy was making her so sensitive and how she was getting all fat now and she just wanted to know if they were boys or girls and she wanted to be able to tell him face-to-face because she missed him and this really isn't fair and her back aches and her feet hurt and she's so hungry all the time.

The SRP looked completely stunned. Mary was proud of her performance. It was working. But Gibson was looking at her doubtfully. She could see his jaw clench as he watched her fake crying, coming closer to them, his arms still crossed in front of him.

There was silence in the room while Mary sniffed and tried to look as pitiful as she could. It worried her a little that Gibson didn't seem to be buying this.

The SRP grabbed a box of tissues and sat down next to Mary, putting her arm around her like a loving mother. She handed Mary a tissue. "So, you understand now, don't you?" Her voice was gentle. "Why you have to listen to us?"

Mary wanted to shove her away, but instead she nodded and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. "Yeah. I'm…just so sorry." She pretended to start crying again, and the SRP wrapped her up in a hug.

Of course, the SRP would hug her and be nice to her now. Of course.

"This is all temporary, Mary," the SRP said, looking at her kindly. "It really is. I know it's hard on you, but one day it won't be like this. Just keep thinking about that."

Mary nodded at her and smiled sadly, while trying to bury the anger she was really feeling. God, she hated doing this, but this was also temporary.

"I think you should get some rest, okay?" The SRP smiled at her like she actually cared. "Don't worry about this," she waved her hand dismissively at the chip. "I think this had to happen so you would learn to listen."

"Yes." Mary gave her the sweetest smile she could. "I understand now. It won't ever happen again."

After Mary walked out and was about halfway down the hall to her room, she could hear The SRP's and Gibson's voices trailing behind her. Were they fighting? Mary heard the door open then close. She turned to see Gibson walking down the hall towards her and she stopped.

He stood there looking at her with his hands on his hips, but then his face flushed slightly and he looked away for a second. "You can stop doing that now."

"What?"

"I know what you're trying to do. And you can stop."

She shook her head, confused. "What?"

He sighed. "I know you're pretending."

Mary shook her head again. "I'm not pretending anything." Why would he say that? Could he tell she was fake-crying?

"You are. Just stop. You don't have to do all this."

She started to feel apprehensive. The SRP had been convinced, why hadn't he?

He looked at her for a long moment, like he could almost hear her question. "Remember what I told you? About playing chess?"

"Yeah."

He sighed again, looking up and down the hallway. He moved closer to her, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I won all the time, because I can hear what people are thinking."

Mary looked back wide-eyed and immediately tried to retract her thoughts, covering them the way she did with her parents and half-siblings, especially all her thoughts about him being creepy.

He shook his head and smiled at her. "I know you think I'm a creep. It's not the worst thing someone has thought about me."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Mary felt embarrassed. When you think mean things about someone they shouldn't be able to hear it. That's even meaner.

"You don't have to do it," he said. "You don't have to go through with it. It doesn't have to come to that for you to stay in the West, okay?"

She felt ashamed. He knew all about what she and Leonard had planned. "How else am I going to stay there? How else can I be with him and our children?"

"We'll figure out something."

We? He kept looking at her, then blushing and looking away. She tried to rein in any thoughts about him being weird.

"Which kind are you?" She asked him.

"I'm not a kind. Actually, I don't really even know. I was born with this ability, but not for the reasons you were."

Mary felt her face grow hot and her heart pound with panic. "You know about my parents, then?"

He nodded.

"Please don't tell her," Mary begged him. "Please don't let her know. Nobody knows."

"I never planned to." He looked at her again for another long moment. "And, you know," he looked down for a second then back up at her face. "You're not a mistake."

Mary didn't know what to say. She felt violated for a minute. Exposed. He'd heard all of that? That was private, but she hadn't thought she'd needed to monitor her thoughts with none of her family members around.

"And there is absolutely nothing shameful about you at all."

Mary stood there, unsure of what to say. Tears were coming into her eyes. Real tears. He'd heard that, too?

"I didn't meant to upset you," he took a step towards her, like he might try to hug or something and Mary took a step back.

"I didn't think anyone around could hear that," Mary said. And, really, what did it matter what he thought of her? But he knew what she was; he knew all of it. She didn't like how vulnerable it was making her feel in that moment.

"I just wanted you to hear someone say that to you," he said quietly. "It doesn't sound like anyone ever has."

Mary knew her mother didn't think she was a mistake or shameful, but had she ever actually said that? Her father certainly never said anything like that to her or her grandparents. Mary wiped her eyes, unable to say anything.

She saw he was looking at her like he wanted to say something else, a pained expression on his face. He hadn't meant to upset her, but she couldn't help it. This had caught her completely by surprise. It wasn't fair that he could hear her and she couldn't hear him.

"I just wanted you to know that. That's all." He backed away from her. "I'm sorry. Get some rest." Then he walked off down the hallway.

She stood there watching him go.

He hadn't meant to upset her, and it was kind of him to tell her that.

Mary didn't say it out loud, but silently in her head so he could hear it.

 _Thank you._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _9:02am_

"South gets the hurricanes and pythons," Sarah said to Gibson. "East gets the Old Republicans. West gets the solar farms and space program. And we get this."

She gestured to all the analysts in their glass cubes, stacked on top of each other. Some of them were sitting. Some were standing. Some walked on treadmills. Gibson watched as each analyst touched a pane of glass in their cube to turn it into a screen; analysts gesturing to the images to zoom in, swiping for the next page, and some wearing special glasses that followed their eye movements to scroll through thousands of pages of data.

"It's going to take another twenty years or more to undo what the Old Republic did," Sarah predicted. "Over a century of information to destroy and redact. Medical records, vaccines, Social Security, pension plans, Old Age Security, the census, surveys, and Internet browsing history." She shook her head in disgust. "I can't believe it went on for that long before anyone did anything about it."

She pointed out to him where one section worked on Mexico, one on Canada, one on the Caribbean, and two for the United States. They removed people, living or dead, from all public records. They even dived deep into the old Internet, back when people connected using phone lines, and erased profiles with personal information that had been left in cyberspace. People must of have thought all that would have been deleted or purged as the Internet evolved, but it never was.

Privacy analysts had already destroyed everything in the DNA Archives and biological samples taken from anyone who'd had a small pox vaccine. Those were the first to go, and now they pored over court records, university transcripts, websites, passports, financial statements, collection agency data, credit reporting data, and thousands of other types of records that had violated people's privacy.

It was just the law-abiding citizens that had their information removed. Sarah told Gibson that every week they received lists of immigrants and criminals whose information would not be private. They got lists of Old Republicans, too, the ones that somehow achieved full citizenship status, so their information could be erased.

Gibson was amazed at all this. He knew this existed and what they did, but he had no idea how much went into it. They were cleaning up a giant mess and the fact that it took this long, the fact that it was so complex, only reinforced the ideals of the NAU. It should never have been like this. The old establishments had stored millions upon millions of terabytes of information on their citizens. Some of the information was completely useless and pointless, but it was the fact they'd done it anyway that had people so outraged.

As they walked around the facility, Gibson wondered if he'd get to see William. He wouldn't be in a cube. He was a Section Chief and probably had his own office on one of the upper floors.

Sarah took him through a hallway with a room off to the side where analysts could sleep in pods. Each one canceled out any noise or light and had its own thermostat. There was a state-of-the-art gym for them, too, and a cafeteria that served vegan meals if the analysts didn't bring their own. Some of them stayed here for days at a time, but they received a generous compensation for the work they did. Citizens were willing to pay higher taxes to support this effort.

There was a screen hanging in the middle of the hallway, faces of the supervisory staff fading in and out in a slideshow. Gibson didn't have to wait long to see William's face appear.

He looked practically the same as he had over twenty years ago. He was pictured in front of the North Region flag and the NAU flag, unsmiling, WILLIAM MULDER, SECTION CHIEF, POLICY DIVISION, under his image.

Gibson thought he must have changed his name, and he didn't look angry or cruel. He looked like his parents did on their FBI badges: serious and intimidating. Anyone that had ever known his parents could take one look at him and know he was their son. The resemblance was remarkable.

Gibson noted the location of William's office before they all went to the cafeteria for lunch. About halfway through, he excused himself, telling the South Guards with him he was just going to the restroom and would be back in a minute. They were in a secure facility; he didn't need escorts.

Gibson took the elevator up, feeling increasingly nervous. Would William remember him? What was he like now? In Mary's thoughts he was the worst thing ever.

When Gibson got to William's office, the door was shut, but a few seconds later a woman came out, giving Gibson a quick glance before she walked the opposite way down the hall.

It seemed, even in that brief moment, that she had glowing blue eyes, but it could have just been the lighting in the hallway making them look that way. She hadn't closed the door, so Gibson stood in the doorway, waiting for William to see him standing there.

William was on his laptop, a very Scully-like expression on his face as he typed. He really looked the same; hardly changed at all.

"I told you if you have any concerns, go to Beth down the hall," William said impatiently, still staring at the screen.

When Gibson didn't move, William looked at him finally, doing a double take, then standing up. "I'm sorry, sir! I didn't know it was you!"

Gibson was confused, then remembered what kind of position he held now. William had probably seen his image all over the news sites and on television. Gibson didn't like this interaction already. It seemed backwards. It should be reversed, like William should be in his place and Gibson in his.

"I didn't think you'd be meeting with us today, sir." William said apologetically.

"No, there wasn't going to be a meeting," Gibson said slowly walking inside William's office.

Gibson waited to see if William might recognize him, but he didn't seem to.

"I actually came up here to see you," Gibson said.

"Oh," William paused, looking at him for a few moments. "Well, what can I do for you?"

Gibson went closer. "You don't remember me?"

William looked him over. "You're Gibson Praise, the new South Regional Secretary, right?"

Gibson nodded. "Yeah, but…we've met before."

William shrugged and shook his head, clearly not remembering.

Gibson sighed and took out his glasses and put them on. That seemed to be the key to people recognizing him.

After a few seconds, William's expression changed to one of disbelief. "You're that guy! That Amish guy! The one who was always staring at me!"

"I wasn't Amish," Gibson replied, putting his glasses back in his pocket. "I was there for the same reasons you were: to hide."

William was silent for a minute, frowning, before he spoke again. "Looks like you've done well for yourself."

"You, too," Gibson replied, looking around William's office.

There were no pictures of Emily or Mary, which was expected, but there were some of his wife and children. His wife – or was she an ex-wife now? – was gorgeous. And his children with her were good-looking, too. There was a picture of the three of them on a shelf behind William's desk. They must have been 16 or 17 in the photo. Gibson couldn't remember their names, he'd heard them in Mary's thoughts, but he recalled they were very Biblical. William's time with the Amish must have had quite an effect on him.

Gibson was a little disappointed there were no pictures of Emily. If her daughter and mother were any indication, she was probably very beautiful. He wondered if that was the reason why Mary existed. Had William and Emily met in Honduras, had some kind of tryst, and then found out about their connection later? Was it some kind of in-vitro thing?

William was looking at him suspiciously now. "You don't look any different."

"Neither do you."

There was a pause as an understanding formed between them.

William walked over to shut the door, then stood in front of him. "Which kind are you?" He whispered.

"I don't know. I don't think I'm any. Maybe half of one."

William looked at him closely. "When I was leaving, you said you knew my parents?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"They helped me."

William waited, but Gibson didn't elaborate. He didn't know if he wanted to get into all that right now.

William went to stand back on the other side of the desk and Gibson wondered why he didn't sit down. Then Gibson realized William was waiting for him to sit. Gibson was the one with the higher status in the room.

Gibson took a seat, then William did, too, still staring at Gibson the whole time. He looked like his father at that moment: curious and pensive.

"I didn't expect to ever see you again," William said.

"Same here."

"What was it you said to me? Something like: Gibson and Marita extend their best wishes?"

"Yeah, I think so."

William looked him over. "Who's Marita?"

"Marita Covarrubias, the South Region President."

William looked at him, shocked. " _That's_ her? The woman in the wheelchair?"

"Yeah. Her name isn't that common."

William shook his head. "I just didn't think it was the same Marita for some reason. She looks so different now."

"She had some surgeries to help with her scars."

"Obviously."

They were quiet for a few seconds. After hearing Mary's commentary on her father in her thoughts, Gibson had expected to meet with some kind of monster. But William wasn't a monster. He seemed fairly normal, a little anxious, but normal. And his thoughts were just as tangled as they were twenty years ago, even more so. He was under tremendous amounts of stress now.

"I met Mary," Gibson said.

William flashed him such a look just then that when he got up from his desk, Gibson thought he was coming around to strike him. Instead, William locked his door then sat down next to him. He rubbed the sides of his head, looking down at his feet.

"How much do you want?" His expression was pained and his voice laced with quiet helplessness. "I'll give you anything you want, just please don't hurt her."

"No," Gibson shook his head, taken aback. "I'm not…that's not…she's in the Ceremonial Guard. That's how I know her." He could sense that William has been in this situation before. Were people extorting him because of her? "I don't want anything. I just wanted to see if you remembered me."

William put his head in his hands, his voice was weak. "How did you know she was my daughter? Did Paul tell you? Michael? My mother?"

Gibson hesitated before he answered. "Your mother."

"Did you threaten her?" William snapped.

"No. Not at all."

Is that what he's been dealing with? People wanting money or something from him, threatening to harm Mary? How would anyone know he was her father?

"So, Mary's here?" William asked. He looked a little bit afraid and a little bit hopeful all at once.

"No. She's with the SRP."

He nodded, looking relieved. What would have happened had Mary been here? Would they have spoken to each other at all?

William's expression hardened as he got up to go sit behind his desk. "It was nice to see you again, sir, but I need to get back to work."

Gibson stood. "I didn't mean to bother you. Just thought I should see you while I'm here."

William went back to typing and didn't say anything; his expression returning to one Gibson had seen his mother wear many times.

Before Gibson was out the door, William spoke to him again.

"Is she happy?"

Gibson turned to look at him, the hard expression on his face was gone. In its place was one of a concerned father; a father concerned for his daughter.

"Yeah," Gibson said, thinking about how William had no idea what she was doing. How William had no idea that his daughter was creating the future. How William had no idea that she was able to do this because of what he and Emily had done. "She's happy."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _7:50pm_

When Mary got to the SRP's rooms, there was a pint of ice cream waiting for her and a huge bag of sunflower seeds.

Mary's cravings for oranges had been replaced by sunflower seeds and she sprinkled them on everything, including ice cream. It was real ice cream, too, not the vegan kind. Mary wasn't sure how the SRP got it in here under Sarah's watchful eyes, but Mary was very grateful. She immediately sat down on the couch and mixed the sunflower seeds into her double chocolate fudge ice cream, ignoring the faces the SRP and Gibson made as she did so.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Mary said to them, taking a bite. "It actually tastes good. Try some." She held out her spoon.

"I'll pass," the SRP said, turning back to her tablet and sipping a glass of vodka.

Gibson shook his head and looked back at his phone.

Ever since Mary's performance, the SRP was being extra kind to her now, allowing her to come into her rooms every evening with food waiting for her.

None of it was vegan. It was all bad food; food the Guard wasn't allowed to eat. High in fats, sugar, and salt, but it was what Mary craved and as long as it wasn't on the list Nurse Owens gave her she didn't feel too bad about it.

The SRP would ask her what she felt like eating and somehow it magically appeared for her every evening. The vegan food Sarah's kitchen staff served wasn't terrible, and probably much better for her, but it left Mary feeling unsatisfied. So, she'd come in to find French fries, which she would cover with chocolate syrup and sunflower seeds. Or pepperoni pizza that she would cover with green olives and sunflower seeds. Or strawberries and cream cheese, also sprinkled with sunflower seeds. Her twins were making her want to eat everything.

And hiding her pregnancy was becoming increasingly difficult. If it wasn't for the heavy coats and scarves the South Guard wore, her baby bump would have been more than noticeable. It was more than a bump, really, and her breasts had grown as well making her entire uniform incredibly uncomfortable. She could hardly button or zip herself in without wrestling and tugging at the fabric.

When they got to the West, she was immediately going to have to go hide somewhere. Probably in the WRP's home, and she was going to have to buy looser clothing until she would need maternity-sized dresses and pants. She wasn't going to be able to wear her uniform anymore. Mary still wasn't sure how big she would get, but Nurse Owens had warned her that with twins it would be bigger than if she was only carrying one. And she'd been right about Mary showing much sooner, too.

Mary smiled at being in the West. She was going home. She was never going to leave. She felt like she should say something to Dominique about it, at least. She felt guilty for leaving her friend without a goodbye. She hadn't heard from Dominique in a while. Mary reminded herself to send her a text to see how she was doing.

Gibson stood up and stretched. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"This early?" The SRP replied with indifference, scrolling through her tablet.

"Yeah, I'm tired. We toured through all the Council buildings today."

Mary dropped her spoon on the coffee table with a loud clatter, and they both turned to look at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She glanced over at Gibson. He knew what she was thinking. Had he seen her father?

"I didn't really talk to anyone," Gibson continued, looking at Mary, but talking to the SRP, who wasn't really paying attention to him. "I just saw the analysts in their cubes."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that," the SRP replied. She shook her head. "Like mice in a cage."

Mary watched Gibson. He hadn't told her, had he? Would he? He'd told the SRP things about her before, but would he tell her this? It made her feel helpless that she had to rely on him to keep this secret.

He told them both goodnight, and gave Mary a quick look of assurance before he left. Maybe he was trustworthy. She really wasn't sure.

Mary looked over at the television as she ate, a news program on, still talking about Avenham. When were people going to shut up about that? It was over. He was impeached and would never be able to run again. End of story.

The SRP shut down her tablet, picked up her glass, and came to stand by her, watching her eat. "I guess those babies are calling all the shots now. Telling their mother when and what to eat." She smiled.

"I guess so," Mary smiled back. This wouldn't be so bad if the SRP was nice to her for the right reasons; not because Mary was pretending to submit to her will.

Mary looked up at the TV and nearly dropped her spoon again.

Alvarez was announcing the new candidate for the ERP, newly selected by the East Council. She had a big smile on her face as she glanced to the man standing next to her.

Mary's blood ran cold. She thought she might vomit.

She recognized that man.

He looked much better than when she'd seen him last. He was polished and clean-cut in his suit. He stood next to Alvarez, healthy and strong, those sunken cheeks filled in and the hollows under his eyes gone. He stared out at the media and cameras through vintage wire-rimmed glasses, a stare that could boil lava.

The SRP noticed the expression on Mary's face and turned towards the TV. She shrieked when she saw it, dropping her glass to the floor, pieces scattering everywhere.

"Oh, my God!" She cried as she put her hand over her mouth.

"What?" Mary cried back. Why was she reacting like this?

"Gibson! Gibson!" The SRP pounded on the wall between their rooms. "Gibson! Get in here now! NOW, dammit!"

Mary watched as Alvarez discussed the East Council's decision, but her words made no sense. Mary couldn't understand them. She was too focused on the man next to her.

"What?!" Gibson shouted, storming back into the room.

The SRP grabbed him by the shoulders. "You have to send a message to the Council! The South does not accept this candidate!"

"We can't do that!" He shouted at her. "They vote first, then we decide!"

"No!" She shouted, shaking him. "Override them! The South does not accept! You have to do it!"

Gibson hadn't been facing the TV, but the SRP turned him around so he could see.

Mary had never heard so many swear words come out of his mouth at once.

"How?!" He shouted, looking just as distressed as the SRP. "How?"

"I don't know!" She replied.

"Who is he?!" Mary cried. "What did he do?"

"Burns signed his death warrant!" The SRP yelled. "I watched him sign it!"

"What did he do?" The terror Mary felt in that moment was only amplified by their reactions to this. Oh, God. She'd forgotten all about this man, and now that day was rushing back at her like a freight train.

 _I know your grandmother! I know Dana Scully!_

"How did he get out?!" Gibson was saying. "How in the hell did he get out?!"

"I don't know!" The SRP looked petrified. Mary had never seen her look like that before.

"What did he do?" Mary stood up until one of them noticed her.

The SRP came over to her, putting her shaking hands on Mary's shoulders. "This man is a _very_ bad man, Mary! He _hated_ your grandparents. He's going to show absolutely no mercy to your grandmother if he's elected!"

Mary's face paled, her knees felt weak. She thought she might actually faint. But Gibson had turned to look at her now, a look of concern and alarm creeping over his face.

He was hearing it. He was hearing how she'd let him live. He was hearing how she'd let this man go.

 _You have to let me go! Please! She would want you to do this!_

 _Don't tell her!_ Mary begged him in her head. _Please don't tell her!_

They all turned back to the TV as Jessinda Alvarez turned to the man next to her. "Please join me in welcoming our candidate for the new East Region President, Alvin Kersh!"

There was applause and it sounded like hammers in Mary's ears.

No. God no. No mercy to her grandmother? What had she done?

Alvin Kersh turned towards all the cameras and the audience, looking around with those hard-as-stone eyes. He didn't smile at all as he gave everyone a quick wave. How had this happened? Hurricane Brandon should have killed him. But Mary knew it should have been her that killed him. She should not have let him go.

Before she could say anything else, she noticed Gibson and the SRP looking down between her legs. The SRP backed away from her, and Gibson's face went pale.

Then Mary felt what they saw. Something wet leaking out of her. She looked down.

It was blood.


	24. Chapter 24

_The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2045_

 _2:46pm_

"Simon! It's almost three in the afternoon! Get your ass up!"

Simon reluctantly opened his eyes as his father barked angrily down the stairs. What time did he say?

Simon squinted at the afternoon sunlight pouring through the basement windows, and felt around in his blankets for his phone. He tapped the screen to see that it was indeed that late in the day.

Shit.

"Your grandmother is coming today!" His father shouted, coming down the stairs. "I told you to clean up down here!"

"I am! I will!" Simon tried not to sound whiney as he put on a shirt.

"It's like a damn frat house," his father commented, shaking his head at the mess.

Simon had actually started cleaning up last night, but then he'd found some beer left in the mini-fridge he kept in the corner, started drinking, decided to play a video game or six, and then that led to browsing the Internet until he fell asleep half-drunk sometime after the sun had come up.

"She's going to be here in a couple of hours," his father said. "You'd better hurry up!"

Simon scowled at him and immediately started tossing all the beer cans, beer bottles, used tissues, chip bags, and the like into the trash bag he'd brought down last night.

His father watched him for a minute. "When are you going to stop this?" He asked, his voice softer.

Simon didn't answer as he cleaned up, embarrassed that he'd let it get this messy. He didn't want his grandmother to see this. He hoped he'd be able to cover up the smell before she got here.

"You graduated months ago. If you're not going to join the Guard, then you need to go get a job," his father said.

"There aren't any jobs," Simon grumbled.

"Why don't you go work with your cousin Laura? She has her own business now and its doing well. I'm sure she'd pay you pretty good."

Simon shook his head even though that probably would be a good idea.

"Well, you can't keep staying here and sleeping all day long," his father said. "It's hard enough on me and your mother. If you're going to stay here, you need to contribute."

Simon masked the guilt he felt with anger. "I'll do it! Just get off my ass!"

Even out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see the hurt on his father's face. Simon knew that these endless days of sleeping and endless nights of staring at screens were not making his life any better, and he felt terrible leeching off his parents like this, but he also felt far too complacent. He was in an endless cycle of wanting to do absolutely nothing. It was comfortable, though. Very comfortable and safe.

"Why can't you go work at a drive thru or the store down the road? Something. Anything." His father sat down on the bottom step, watching him. "Night shift, maybe? So you won't have to adjust your sleeping patterns too much?"

Simon grabbed his ear buds, put them in, and tapped the volume button on the side as high as it would go. He didn't want to hear this shit right now. Like hell he was going to be standing at a drive thru and risk one of his old friends seeing him. He'd graduated from the South Region Military Academy. That meant something; something more than a drive thru bitch.

But Simon knew why he was like this. He knew why he did nothing but eat, drink, sleep, and repeat. This feeling of hopelessness had come over him the night he saw Mary's look of horror when he'd asked her to marry him.

It made him angry. His heart pounded and he ground his teeth when he thought about it. She'd looked at him like he'd told her he wanted to harvest her organs. She'd humiliated him! He thought for sure she'd say yes, but she just looked at him, saying absolutely nothing! How could she do that to him?

And he knew the game he was playing with her had gone on far too long, but he obstinately refused to respond to her. Each time he saw her name, with the little emoji heart he'd put beside it, flash on the screen of his phone, he swallowed the urge to reply. He remembered that night again, the look on her face, the embarrassment he'd felt. Let her see what it's like to get no answer!

Simon paused in his work to see what else was left. He'd made some progress with the trash, but he was going to have to get more bags. And wash the sheets. Or change them, at least. And clean the tiny bathroom under the stairs. And clean out the mini-fridge. And maybe dust a little bit.

Suddenly, the whole thing felt too overwhelming so he flopped back down on the bed. He pulled out one of the ear buds and noticed his father had given up and gone back upstairs.

Simon knew he really should look for a job. His parents had a tough time making ends meet. The solar company his father worked for had been bought out by another. They'd been worried his position would be eliminated along with his entire department, but he stayed on, albeit with reduced hours. And his mother drove around all day long from house to house in the wealthy Hopi and Shoshone communities in the canyons, giving private lessons in languages and mathematics. They owned all the solar companies, including the one his father worked for, because they owned all the land. Even so, his mother wasn't paid very much for her efforts.

Wasn't this supposed to be a prosperous country now?

Simon heard his phone chime. He knew who it was before he tapped open the screen.

Mary.

Her messages had come in a wave of desperation for weeks after graduation, but they soon tapered off into a trickle of concern.

He swiped open the message. It said the same thing they all did:

 _I just want to know if you're okay. I'm worried. Please just let me know you're okay. I miss you._

He clenched his fists, put his ear buds back in, and continued to clean. He ripped the sheets from his bed, balling them up, and hurling them across the room.

Later, Simon was trying to vacuum when he heard the front door open, his mother's and grandmother's voices filling the living room. He shut the vacuum off and ran up the stairs.

He always expected his grandmother to look frail after coming home from the hospital, sitting in a wheelchair, smoking through a hole in her throat.

But she never looked like that.

She was vibrant, full of energy, her eyes shining, her dark hair pulled into a braid over her shoulder. She didn't look like, sound like, or act like anyone he'd seen with lung cancer before. She always beat it; it always went away.

"Jack," his grandmother hugged his father. "I missed you."

"Hi, mom," he hugged her back. "You look good."

Simon watched her, wondering if she was like this because of what Mary was. Was his grandmother like that, too? Could she talk to pythons and move things with her mind? He'd never seen her do anything like that. But her appearance and her ability to overcome tumor after tumor wasn't normal.

Simon got the impression his father, aunts, and uncles knew this, too. It was in the looks they exchanged with each other at holidays, especially when someone brought up their father. And the mystery around the trip they all took together each summer. Simon's cousin Chris told him they went to the Grand Canyon. They did it every year, all seven of them dropping everything, taking off for a week. Simon's father didn't really talk about it and since his mother never asked, he never did either. Now, for some reason, he really wanted to know, but was afraid to ask.

"Simon!" His grandmother opened her arms wide to give him a big hug.

"Hey," Simon said to her, returning her hug.

"Look at you!" His grandmother said, sizing him up. She turned to his parents. "He used to be this big!" She held her hand about three feet off the floor. "And look at him now!"

Simon's mother and father nodded their agreement, beaming at him with pride.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come to your graduation," she said. "I wanted to be there. I really did."

"It's okay," he shrugged. It was probably best she hadn't been there. She probably would have wanted to see Mary and see Mary's mother and grandmother again. And she'd had more important things to deal with. "I'm just glad you're better and that you're here."

"Me, too," she smiled, then she turned to his father, her expression becoming more serious. "So, they didn't eliminate the whole department, right?

"Right," his father replied. "They just reduced our hours. I think we can manage it."

"There's some money your father put away," his grandmother said quietly. "If you need it."

"No, no," Simon's father shook his head. "That's for you. I don't want any of that." Then he gave her stern look. "And you quit, right? For good this time?"

"It's _vapor_. _Water_ vapor. It's not as bad."

"Still has nicotine in it," Simon's father said glumly. "And do that outside if you're going to do it. Not in the house, please."

"Okay," she agreed.

Simon didn't know why his father was giving her such a hard time. If she got another tumor, it would just go away. They'd all been worried this one wouldn't, but her lungs were completely healed. They'd given her a few treatments in the hospital this time to help, but it went away practically on its own. Again.

Simon's mother handed him his grandmother's suitcase. "Simon's been cleaning up the basement for you," she said. "I hope you like it down there. It's as finished as it's going to be for a while."

Simon lugged his grandmother's suitcase down the basement steps as she followed him.

His grandmother looked around for a few minutes. "Actually, I don't think I'll need this." She gestured to the bed, nightstand, and dresser.

"What?" Simon asked, carefully setting her suitcase in the corner. "The bed?"

"Well, actually," his grandmother said sheepishly. "None of it?"

Simon looked around. This was as neat has he could get it given the short time he had. He spotted some beer cans he missed and kicked them under the bed with his feet when she wasn't looking.

"Yeah, I won't need the bed," his grandmother said. "Or any of it." She shook her head as she looked around the room. "It's just not good Feng Shui."

"Dung what?" Simon asked.

She came over to him grinning, patting his cheek. _"Feng_ Shui." She looked at him for a second or two. "You really are my favorite."

Simon grinned at her. She said that to all her grandchildren, but he liked to think he really was her favorite.

By the time they all sat down to a late dinner, Simon and his father had taken out all the furniture, gone to her storage unit, and replaced everything with psychedelic tapestries and cushions.

Simon wasn't sure why his grandmother found this to be preferable or why she'd want to sit on the floor all the time, but she'd always been a peculiar woman. She always told people she looked so young because she meditated a lot, and she'd liked to set out certain types of crystals in each corner of her house. She'd said they helped with the energy flow or something like that.

Simon always thought she and his grandfather were opposites, but it seemed to work for them. His grandfather had been grounded like a stone, while his grandmother was difficult to pin down and understand. But they'd loved each other. That had always been obvious to everyone in their family.

As they all sat around the table, Simon noticed his mother giving his grandmother worrisome looks.

"Monica, that woman, your friend," Simon's mother said. "She called us about you."

Simon watched as his grandmother hesitated a little as she drank her glass of water. "Which friend?"

"Uh, Scully," his mother replied. "Dana Scully."

Simon immediately started choking on the sip of soda he'd taken. They all turned to look at him.

"Sorry," he coughed, his voice strained. "Wrong pipe."

"She called you?" his grandmother asked with mild concern, but he thought he saw her hands begin to shake.

"Yeah, um, I don't know why she would call us. Do you?"

"Oh. Well," she cleared her throat. "I just didn't have my phone with me in the hospital. I must have given her your numbers. I knew I'd be coming here when I got out."

"I see," Simon's mother nodded, still looking worried. "They're not going to record our information, are they? Intelligence? I don't think I'm comfortable with them having our phone numbers or our names."

"No, they won't do that. And she has to tell them, anyway. She has to log all her phone calls. They'll just check her phone records to make sure it's accurate and discard the information."

Simon's mother nodded again, but she looked uneasy.

There was silence for a few moments. Simon took another drink of soda to clear his throat. He hadn't known Mary's grandmother had called. Had she mentioned Mary and what she might be doing now? He knew how pathetic it was to be wondering what she was up to while he was refusing to speak to her.

"What did she do for them to monitor her like this?" Simon's mother asked.

Simon watched his grandmother look down with a sigh, putting down her fork.

"Don't ask her that," his father said. "She doesn't like to talk about that stuff."

"No, it's okay," Simon's grandmother replied.

"I mean, both of you were in the same organization and did the same job, right?" Simon's mother asked tentatively. "You have way more freedom and privacy rights than her. She must have done something to make them track her so much."

Simon, his father, and his mother watched as she glanced up at all of them, then cast her gaze down again.

"It wasn't really what she did," she replied quietly. "It was what she didn't do."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _4:53pm_

Jemaine As He Stands walked into the hospital lobby wearing the same "disguise" he always wore: dark sunglasses with neon frames and a cowboy hat with his long hair tucked underneath it.

The first time Dominique had seen him walk into her room like that, she'd laughed until she was in tears.

"I don't think it's that funny," he'd said to her, but seeing her laugh made him smile.

"Oh, yes it is!" She exclaimed. "Are we going meet out on the range at high noon and have a shootout?"

He shook his head at her, adding another bouquet of roses to the collection in her room. When she was done laughing at him, she hugged and kissed him, after the door had been closed, of course. That was what made the whole thing worth it: the affection she showed him and to see her well and laughing. It meant she was okay. He hadn't known the extent of her injury right away, and he'd been worried about her.

But she was okay. He was grateful for that.

And as silly as he might look, he couldn't be recognized. It wouldn't bode well to have pictures of the West Regional Secretary visiting this hospital so many times a week. Another rumor might pop up on social media about him meeting a married woman or going to see a baby he'd fathered during one of his mythical affairs. He'd never had an affair in his life and was still puzzled where that rumor even came from. Did the media just make stuff up to entertain people?

But if Dominique was married, he'd have an affair with her. Oh, yes he would.

He didn't know why he liked her so much. They were opposites in every way. He was quiet; she was loud. She liked to talk; he liked to be silent. He preferred red; she preferred blue. She was a Haitian Catholic and he was Lakota Sioux. On and on it went, all the differences between them. But, really, he wouldn't have it any other way.

He was looking forward to her giggling at his "disguise" again as he walked up the stairwell. She always did; no matter how many times she'd seen it.

He'd learned to stay away from the elevator and heavy traffic areas just in case someone did recognize him. The stairwell he took was in a far corner of the hospital and seemed to only be used by the staff making personal calls or avoiding annoying patients.

As He Stands walked all the way up to the third floor and rounded the two corners to room 368. When he opened the door, there was an elderly man on the bed, gleefully moving his new robotic hands and feet while a doctor guided him through the setup.

"Oh, excuse me," As He Stands apologized, shutting the door slightly. He looked at the number beside the door.

368.

It was the right room. He hadn't made a mistake.

"This is room 368, right?" As He Stands asked the doctor.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes. The numbers are right by the doors, sir." She pointed to the corner.

The elderly man gave As He Stands a giant, gummy grin. "Look at this!" He wiggled his robotic toes at him. "Can you believe this shit?"

As He Stands stood there for a minute, confused. "There was a young lady in here. A South Guard that was injured by militia?"

The doctor put her hands on her hips, clearly aggravated by this interruption. "Well, obviously she's not in here now. Will you excuse us?"

"Look, look!" The old man said, holding up the middle finger on each of his robotic hands. "I haven't been able to flip the bird in fifteen years!" He cackled hoarsely into a fit of coughing as the doctor went to shut the door.

"She was probably moved," the doctor told him. "Check down the hall." She closed the door, leaving As He Stands out in the hallway.

He stood there for a minute, stunned.

Moved? She would have told him, wouldn't she?

He walked down the hall to the desk at the end. When the nurse sitting there looked up at him, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was something…off about her. He couldn't really figure out what it was.

"Can I help you?" She asked him with a smile.

"Yeah, where did the Guard member in 368 get moved to?"

She tilted her head to the side in confusion. "Guard member?"

"Yes. She was injured by militia? A gunshot wound in her shoulder?"

The nurse looked him over for a second, and his feeling that something was wrong with her increased.

"What's her name?" The nurse asked.

"Dominique. Sainclair." He spelled out her last name for the nurse as she typed it into her tablet. He'd misspelled it on a card once, abbreviating the first part like "St." and Dominique had made him scribble it out and spell it the Haitian way.

"I don't see her name here, sir," the nurse said, frowning as she scrolled down the screen.

He shook his head, his hand tightening around the bouquet. "I've been here before. A few days ago. She was in 368."

"Oh, wait," she said. "There's a Monique _Sin_ clair here. In room 316. Maybe that's her?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling his hand relax. "That's probably her." They really butchered her name. She would be angry if she knew, and she would probably send him back out here and make them spell it correctly.

The nurse smiled at him again and pointed down the hall. "Down that way to your left."

"Thank you." He felt like he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

But when he opened the door to room 316, Monique _Sin_ clair was a twelve year old, sniffling as a nurse prepared her arm for a shot. He shut the door with an apology and went back to the desk.

"That's not her," he said, beginning to feel irritated at the hospital staff's incompetence. "Can you look again?"

"Sure," the nurse turned to her tablet. "Spell it for me again, please."

He spelled it again. She scrolled and scrolled, shaking her head and frowning all the while. "I'm very sorry, sir, but there's just no one here by that name."

"But she's here. She's been here for weeks," he replied, trying not to let his irritation show in his voice.

The nurse looked at him with pity. "I don't know what to tell you, sir. There's no one by that name here."

He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, a quiet dread snaking its way up his spine. "She's here. I've come by to see her many times."

The nurse stood up and looked him over again. He didn't know why, but the way she looked at him sent a chill all over his skin.

"You've been here before?"

"Yes, just a few days ago."

"It's possible she was moved to another hospital. Want me to check?"

"Yeah," he felt a split second of relief, but why would they move her to another hospital? It wasn't like this one was crowded.

The nurse typed on her tablet for a few seconds, then looked at him sadly, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sorry, sir."

He was really starting to panic now.

Where was she? Was it possible she'd been discharged and hadn't told him yet? But wouldn't there be a record of that?

As He Stands stood there making the nurse try different variations of Dominique's name, and the nurse complied, but there was no one by that name in their system. She even turned her tablet around to show him the screen as she scrolled up and down.

He slowly pulled off his sunglasses, not caring if he was recognized. "Something's not right. She's here. I've been here to see her. She's been here for weeks. She had two surgeries while she was here."

The nurse was looking at him in that pitying way. He didn't like it.

"Do you transfer patients outside of the Region?" He asked her hopefully.

"No, we don't do that," she replied, sitting back down. "It's too confusing for their families. I really wish I could help you, but if her name's not in here," she gestured to her tablet. "Then she can't possibly be here."

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He felt like someone had just yanked the floor out of from under his feet. He turned and walked back down the hall, unsure of where he was going. He didn't want to leave here without finding Dominique first.

He pulled out his phone and sent her a text. Then he called and got her voicemail. Then he texted again. No answer; no reply. But her phone was on. The messages were still going through; there was still a connection.

Call. Text. Call. Text. He did it over and over, but there was no response.

He made his way down to the main floor and approached the security desk. "I need to report someone missing," he said.

The two security guards on duty spun around in their chairs and looked at him questionably.

"Missing?" One of them asked. "Inside the hospital?"

"I don't really know. She was here and now she's not."

They exchanged a look with each other and one pushed a tablet across the desk. "Fill this out please."

As He Stands pushed it aside and took of his hat. He watched their faces change when they recognized him, and they immediately stood up.

"I'm not filling out anything," he said to them, setting his cowboy hat and the bouquet down, leaning across the desk. "I want both of you to search this place from top to bottom. The morgue. The damn roof. You understand me?" He opened his phone to Dominique's image in the registry. "For this woman right here. A Guard member wounded in the line of duty. Hurry up!"

Both men scurried out from the behind the desk and As He Stands followed them down the hallway. But he slowed as he thought about someone he could call; someone who might be able to find her faster than security. He pulled out his phone and hesitated. The number wasn't stored in his phone, and he'd never written it down. The owner had been adamant that As He Stands memorize it.

He slowly punched in the numbers and held his phone up to his ear. There was an answer on the fourth ring.

"It's me," As He Stands said, hoping the fear in his voice wasn't noticeable. "I need your help."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _11:36pm_

The SRP was walking so fast through the terminal that the South and North Guards could hardly spread themselves out. They tried to get on either side of her and Gibson, some in front of them and some behind them, all of the Guards nervous because they hadn't had time to scope the airport and get a count of armed citizens first.

The SRP hardly noticed.

Her thumbs were moving so fast over the screen of her phone that she didn't see or hear any of the people in the airport as they recognized her. People standing up on their chairs, holding up their phones to get a picture of her; people hollering "God bless you, ma'am!" or "God bless the Guard!"; people standing to salute, spinning around on their stools at the airport lounge, eyes wide with complete surprise.

The SRP nor Gibson noticed any of them.

"Listen," the SRP said, grabbing his arm and pulling him close to her. "You have to make sure you meet with Hosteen as soon as you're in the West."

Gibson wasn't sure how he was going to do that or even what he would say to Hosteen. Why would Hosteen even listen to him?

The SRP had already tried to get a hold of Hosteen and Burns for an emergency conference. But Hosteen was in the Mojave and Burns was at the North Region Military Academy to give an address to the graduating class. Neither one of them had responded to her frantic attempts to contact them nor did it seem their aides had relayed her messages.

Gibson had already tried to contact As He Stands, but he wasn't responding to anything either. They all had to meet soon. Very soon. They all needed to discuss the ERP candidate, which they all would have done anyway even if it wasn't Alvin Kersh.

 _Alvin. Kersh._

That name, the sound of that name, made Gibson's skin crawl. He and the SRP knew Kersh had somehow gotten out of that underground prison in Jamaica. They didn't know how, and both of them had been afraid he'd find them and show them the same mercy they'd shown him. But Kersh had made the mistake of killing someone, which led to his arrest, imprisonment, and execution that clearly never happened.

"Hosteen isn't going to listen to me," Gibson said.

"Well, make him!" She said furiously, tapping and swiping so fast he thought her fingers might fly right off her hands.

She was summoning all the members of the South Council, which was in recess for the holidays. All of them were pissed, too, having to interrupt time with their families and travel back to the South. Many of them spent the holidays elsewhere in the Union or other parts of the world. No one wanted to deal with a hurricane or a python at Christmastime.

The SRP was on the phone now with one of her Councilmembers. Gibson could hear him shouting at her, but it wasn't clear what he was saying.

"I don't care what you have to do!" She shouted at him back. "If you're not back in the South tomorrow-" She took her phone from her ear and looked at it. "He hung up on me!"

"They have to show up," Gibson said. "They can be as mad as they want, but they have to be there."

The SRP didn't seem to hear him as she tried to make another call. She was trying to do all this before they got out on the tarmac and she boarded the plane. The engines of the planes were much too loud and generated too much heat for people to be around them for any length of time. Humans that used to load and unload airplanes and direct runway traffic had been replaced by robots. The ones that unloaded and loaded cargo areas and set citizen's guns upon racks were operated from inside by people with controllers. But the ones that directed traffic looked like little R2D2s as they whirred down the runway, lights blinking on their "heads," as planes followed them to where they would launch. These kinds of planes, traveling at transonic and hypersonic speeds, couldn't just take off; they were launched from long runways that gradually curved into steep inclines so they could reach the right altitudes quickly and without too many pressure changes in the cabins.

Gibson looked out the window of the terminal for the green NAU Airways jet that Lieutenant Skinner had sent up for the SRP and South Guards that were going with her. It was a passenger plane, but he'd still given her his speech about how air travel was more dangerous for her, he couldn't guarantee her safety, she must sit near an exit, etc. She'd hung up on him before he could finish. The Presidents had their own plane they shared, parked in the Center, but it was rarely used. Having anything on the side of a plane indicating it was Presidential was the same has drawing a target on it. Passenger planes were safer for government officials, and it wasn't like this trip would take long. She'd be back in the South in under a half hour.

The flight attendant at the boarding desk, pink streaks in her hair and piercings all over her face, looked at them all open-mouthed as she handed them their ear plugs. Gibson thought she looked familiar for some reason. She didn't know what to do, whether she should salute or not, as she stammered out for the SRP to have a good flight. This had all happened very sudden. No one was expecting them to fly out of here this time of night.

Before they were out on the tarmac, the SRP turned to Gibson again. "And please, _please_ , make sure nothing happens to Mary. Tell everyone she came back with me, and put her and Nurse Owens with the citizens on the train, okay?"

He nodded. Mary wasn't going to be able to perform her official duties anymore, and the way she was feeling right now, after Kersh and thinking she'd lost her twins, she wasn't in the emotional state to handle her job right now.

Earlier that evening, when Nurse Owens opened the bedroom door, Gibson got a glimpse of Mary sitting on the bed, her arms wrapped around her as if she were hugging her babies and attempting to hold them inside her. She had her head down, her hair falling all around her face, so he couldn't read her expression.

Nurse Owens shut the door and looked at him sternly, then at the SRP when she shut off her phone and came over to them. She'd been pacing up and down the hall, brushing the tears off her face as she desperately tried to get a hold of Burns and Hosteen.

"Is she okay?" The SRP asked, the tone of her voice revealing her shredded nerves.

"She's okay," Nurse Owens said to both of them. "This happens sometimes. Spotting is normal, especially with a first pregnancy."

"That wasn't spotting!" The SRP said. "It was practically gushing out of her!"

"It wasn't gushing!" Gibson interjected. Why did she have to be so damned dramatic?

"Like I said," Nurse Owens replied. "She's fine." She paused meaningfully there, making them wait for the rest of it. "But those babies are developing very quickly. Faster than normal. That's why she was bleeding like that. Her body can't keep up with it. It was the strain on her womb."

"Strain?" The SRP repeated. "What strain?"

"Well, she's not an average woman," Nurse Owens said to her severely. "And the father of those babies isn't an average man. So, this isn't going to be an average pregnancy."

"How much faster?" Gibson asked, afraid to know the answer.

"She's going to go into labor long before June," Nurse Owens answered quietly. "I'm thinking April now. Or earlier."

"Earlier?" The SRP asked.

"She's a few weeks ahead of where she should be. It doesn't seem like much, but for fetal development it makes a world of difference." Nurse Owens smiled faintly. "Which means we know what they are now."

Gibson felt like both he and the SRP were holding their breath.

"A boy and a girl."

The SRP smiled a little looking over at Gibson, but he didn't smile back.

"And I told her all this," Nurse Owens continued. "She knows what's going on. She needs rest. Lots of rest." She turned towards the SRP, her expression changing to one of fury. "And she can't be standing around for long periods of time anymore! And absolutely, positively _no_ guns! Not even that little handgun!" Nurse Owens was shaking her finger at the SRP now. If it wasn't for the circumstances it would have been comical watching the SRP step back from her in fear. "She can't overexert herself, and we need to keep her as calm as possible. Do I make myself clear, ma'am?"

The SRP leaned back, her expression solemn. "Yes."

Nurse Owens had then reluctantly let them go in and see Mary. Gibson noticed that without her uniform or the heavy winter attire, Mary was much bigger than he'd thought. She'd changed out of her bloody clothes into a T-Shirt and pajama pants, both straining over the girth of her stomach. She sat cross-legged on the bed as they sat on either side of her, her hands moving over her stomach.

"I thought I felt one of them move a few minutes ago," she said softly. "Like a little kick." She looked up at them, a couple of tears streaming down her face. "I really thought I was going to lose them."

"We did, too," the SRP replied, wrapping Mary up in a hug, tears starting to run down her face as well. "I'm so glad you're okay and the twins are okay."

Gibson was surprised to see the SRP getting so emotional, but this had been quite an evening. And he sensed the SRP had become quite attached to Mary, almost as if Mary were her own daughter.

"You're not going to be able to perform your official duties now," the SRP said gently, smoothing Mary's hair from her face. "But we're going to make sure you're always safe and taken care of." She glanced over at Gibson. "We'll make it a priority."

Gibson nodded his agreement.

The SRP's phone beeped just then and she took it out. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. I'll be back in a minute." She opened the door and shut it behind her, her angry voice crackling down the hallway as she answered the call. Probably another livid Councilmember.

Mary looked guardedly over at Gibson, and he looked away for a second. He tried not to think about how he was sitting on a bed alone with her right then. This wasn't the time for those kinds of thoughts.

"You have to tell me what happened," Gibson whispered to her. Mary lay back against the pillows, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Didn't you hear it already?"

"I'm not as good at it as I used to be," he replied. "And I want to hear you say it."

She moved her hands down the curve of her belly and sighed. "He said he knew my grandmother. He said my mother's name, then he said mine." She paused. "He told me my grandmother would want me to let him go." She shrugged. "So, I let him go."

Of course Kersh would say that. Mary wouldn't have known any different.

"And I thought the hurricane would get him," Mary continued. "Hurricane Brandon. It was a Category 5 and it went right through that island."

"Which island was it?" Gibson asked.

"Island 4."

"Island 4…," he repeated as he tried to remember what that used to be. The Bahamas? He'd forgotten what all the islands used to be just as easily as he'd forgotten where all the states and territories had been. Except for Jamaica. He'd never forget that. "Was it a big island? Did it look like there used to be cities there?"

"No, it was smaller. It looked like there were resorts there at one time." She paused again, sitting back up, wrapping her arms around herself. "He knew my mother's name. And mine. What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know. He would have said anything to keep from being executed, though. There was no way you could have known he was lying."

"I let my grandmother down," Mary said, her voice shaking with emotion. "He's going to hurt her. He's going to have her killed and it's all my fault."

Gibson instinctively reached out for her hand. When he felt her fingers entwine through his, there was a flutter in his stomach, a warmth spreading through him; he tried to compose himself.

"It's not your fault," he said to her. "You didn't know. He manipulated you. And he's not the ERP yet. Even if all the Councils accept him, he still has to win over the voters. Nothing is certain yet."

Thinking about the voters gave him a little bit of hope. Voting wasn't like it had been with any of the former establishments. Once the transition had been over, the voting age was lowered to fourteen and every single restriction or other difficulty that had kept people from voting was removed by the Union. The only people prevented from voting were immigrants, criminals, and Old Republicans. Criminals lost the right forever; immigrants could get it after achieving citizenship then waiting another decade to prove loyalty and good behavior, and all the Councils were still on the fence about whether any Old Republican should have that right at all after becoming a citizen.

Instead of filing into public buildings during limited hours on a weekday, people voted with their devices from wherever they were. From 12:01am to 11:59pm on voting day people could download an app to their device, verify their identity, cast their vote, and then the app erased itself from their device. It was much easier and quicker than before and guaranteed nearly 100% voter participation. The homebound and disabled could cast their votes just as easily as high schoolers. And Kersh would have to get 55% in favor of him to become the ERP. If he didn't, and with no one running against him as of yet, the East Council would have no choice but to pick another candidate.

There was still some hope.

"I know it's going to be impossible, but try not to worry about Kersh too much," Gibson said. "Let me and her worry about that."

Mary looked over at him. "How do you know him? How does she know him?"

He hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should tell her all of that.

"I told you," Mary insisted. "Now tell me."

"Well," he began. "He, um…we kind of left him behind. We were all in this prison on Island 6. It was before the Union."

"In prison for what?"

"Those men she told you about, the Syndicate, they had us all down there for something. I don't know what they were going to do to Kersh, but they tried to kill her and they were going to lobotomize me. But she and I escaped, and we left Kersh there."

Mary stared at him for a minute. "Lobotomize you?"

"Yeah. That's what she told me later. That group of men turned on her and they turned on Kersh, too. He was supposed to make sure your grandparents were separated and your grandfather was executed." He could hear something bubbling up in Mary's thoughts, something Scully had told her. He was surprised Scully would have let Mary know about any of that. "But he failed. So, they turned on him. They punished the SRP for helping them. They punished Kersh for failing to stop them."

Mary didn't say anything for a few minutes. He felt her fingers tighten around his and his heart skipped a beat. They were quiet for a while, and he hoped she wouldn't ask about anything else. But she did.

"You knew my grandparents, too, didn't you?" Mary asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I didn't work with them, and I didn't really know them that well. And I know you get tired of people telling you about them."

"It's not really that," Mary's voice was quieter and calmer than before. "I guess I just feel like everyone got to see a side of them and know them in a way I never did. I'm their granddaughter, and I hardly knew my grandfather. I still don't know my grandmother very well. She's told me some things, but I'm sure it's not everything."

He could hear a little about the things Scully has told her. It surprised him, but Mary deserved to know. Especially now.

"If you didn't work with them, then how do you know them?" Mary asked, looking at him intently.

He sighed. He knew this question was coming. He pulled out his phone and tapped open the screen. "I'll show you."

The video clip, the one he hoped he'd never see again, had been found and released on social media, along with two others, of him as a kid playing chess. The video clips weren't very long, only a couple of minutes, and very poor quality. The first one showed up yesterday afternoon, then the other two shortly followed. As soon as he saw them, he turned off his phone and didn't want to leave Sarah's house. For a very brief moment he understood why Byers had been such a hermit.

There were thousands of comments on all three videos. He didn't really want to read them, but he'd skimmed a few. The only bad thing he'd read was where someone speculated Gibson wasn't actually playing chess on his own and that someone must have been giving him directions through an earpiece. But he didn't want to read any more comments to find out if there was anything worse. It was unnerving to see this now. It felt like it happened a million years ago.

Gibson opened up the video and handed his phone to Mary and braced himself. She let go of his hand to take his phone. For a second, the wanted to take it back.

"That's you?" She said in amazement, looking from him to the video.

"Yup. That's me."

A smiled spread over her face. "You were so cute."

He tried not to blush at her calling him cute. At least it was better than her thinking he was a creep.

Then it happened. The moment in the video when he stood up and his opponent was shot, falling to the floor as all hell broke loose.

Mary jumped. "Oh, my God! Did someone just shoot him? It just missed you!"

"That's because it wasn't him they intended to shoot," he said. "I stood up because I heard him. The guy with the gun. I stood up like that so he wouldn't shoot me."

Mary looked at him, completely horrified. "Why would anyone want to kill a little boy?"

"I'm still not sure if they just wanted to kill me or use me. But I guess it really ended up being the latter."

"Someone knew what you were doing, didn't they? They knew how you were winning."

He nodded. Looking back, it probably hadn't been that hard for the right people to notice.

"Wait a minute," Mary said, watching the video again. "This was in 1998." She looked at him closely, then paused the video on him, studying the image. He waited for her to figure it out. "You are a kind then. You're like my grandmother."

"Like I told you before, I don't really know."

"But you'd have to be. You should be sixty years old now or older, right?"

He shrugged, taking his phone from her.

"Were my grandparents there when that happened? Did they go after the man that tried to kill you?"

"Yeah…well, they were trying to protect me. But, um…"

"They got you anyway, didn't they?"

"Yeah."

"Was Kersh one of them that made you like this? Did he do that to my grandmother, too?

"I don't know. I doubt he had anything to do with her. He might be like her now for all we know. He doesn't look much older."

"No, he doesn't," Mary agreed. "I saw his entry in the Old Republican registry. I don't remember his birthdate, but he'd have to be in his eighties, too, or older, right?"

Gibson had seen the profile before, too. He'd tried to find it again earlier, but it was gone. Kersh either somehow became a citizen at some point or he knew people that would delete it. His entry in the inmate locator was purged after his execution that never happened. It bothered Gibson a little that could be so easily overlooked. Mary may have let Kersh go, but there should have been better precautions in place to make sure an inmate didn't get away.

"My grandmother told me about what she and my grandfather had found out," Mary said. "He must have hated them so much because of that." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Let's just say the Councils and the voters accept him, and he does become the ERP. Would he really hurt her? What would be the point now? After all this time and my grandfather dead now?"

Gibson didn't really know for sure. Kersh had to have a reason. He had to have gotten someone's attention and been charismatic enough to have made it this far. Why would he want to be the ERP? The East Region was the second most undesirable Region to manage. The South was the most undesirable, which was why the SRP hadn't had anyone try to run against her and her Council didn't try to replace her. No one else wanted to do it, and her alligator idea had been the best one yet.

Avenham had been in office for four years before his Council had had enough. It had only gone on that long because the voters liked him and no one else wanted the job. North and West had their problems, but they didn't have Old Republicans, hurricanes, and pythons to worry about. There were always at least three or four candidates in those Regions. And Burns used such lethal force against the Old Republican militia that they'd mostly concentrated their efforts in the East.

Why would Kersh want to be the ERP?

Kersh couldn't be doing this just because of Dana Scully. If he'd wanted to harm her in any way, he'd have done so a long time ago. She was easy to find and had no way of defending herself. Gibson got a sinking feeling when he thought about her. She had to know by now that he was the candidate. What she must be feeling now…

"I don't know why he'd want to harm her," Gibson replied. "She's powerless. She's not a threat to him anymore. So, I don't know."

He could hear something creeping around in Mary's thoughts just then, quietly and timidly weaving its way through her mind. She was thinking of what could be done if he won. She was thinking about a way to stop him, to eliminate him, if all else failed.

Assassination.

She probably knew he could hear it, but he didn't acknowledge it. One thing at a time. First thing, get the Councils to reject him and if that failed, hope and pray the voters would.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Gibson asked. "Does anyone else know you didn't execute him?"

He could see a creeping fear change the expression on Mary's face as she thought about it.

"Simon," she replied, looking over at him. "Simon Doggett knows."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _1:07am_

Mary needed to get up, but she didn't want to.

She'd had to pee for at least an hour now, but she was afraid to stand up. She was afraid she might start bleeding. Nurse Owens told her it could happen again. Her babies were growing so fast. Right now, she was sure one of them was pressing on her bladder. She felt around on her abdomen trying to find each of them.

Albert and Melissa.

That's what she would name them. She knew it as soon as Nurse Owens told her. Their names came from somewhere deep inside her, straight from her heart, springing up into her consciousness so quickly she almost said their names aloud.

Albert and Melissa.

It was so perfect. So incredibly perfect that she would be having one of each. She was still worried about them being deformed, but the possibility of losing them was worse. She loved them so much already. She'd die if she lost them now.

She hadn't told Leonard yet. She'd picked up her phone several times, but she didn't want to tell him that way. And she didn't want to tell him what had happened yesterday evening. She was fine and they were fine; they were just growing very fast. Should she tell him? She didn't know if she would just yet.

She lifted herself up on her elbows and it made the need to relieve herself worse. She was thirsty, too. And hungry. Was this why she wanted to eat so much? Her body needing more energy to keep up with the twins' rapid growth? She was still part human after all, and that part of her wasn't prepared for this.

She lay back down for a few seconds, trying to push all the other events and conversations from the past twenty-four hours out of her head. She didn't want to think about Kersh or that Gibson had known her grandparents this whole time and hadn't told her. Or that Simon knew what she'd done.

Instead, she thought about her grandmother and what they'd talked about. She'd been through so much in her life, and Mary couldn't believe she had shared all that with her.

And still, after all of that, Mary didn't tell her. Mary didn't confide in her at all.

She told Mary about being put inside a spaceship, placed in there to be a vessel of some kind for alien lifeforms until her grandfather saved her. She told Mary about going out on a bridge to meet a woman and other people waiting on a UFO. When the UFO came, the rebels had shown up and started burning people to death.

Mary could hardly believe any of it. About the rebels and another type that could shift its form, mimicking other people. Ones that had toxic blood that killed anyone that breathed it in. She told Mary about viruses and bees and how there had been a plan, concocted by the Syndicate and extraterrestrials, to take over the planet. But it was supposed to have been an invasion, violent and sudden.

Mary had almost told her at that point; it had been on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn't do it. What Mary was doing now was not the same. There would be no violence. Her children wouldn't hurt anyone, but she couldn't tell her. What if her mother found out? Or her father? What if intelligence put recording devices in her grandmother's house and heard what Mary said?

Mary didn't tell her, but she asked a question she'd always wanted an answer to: "Why aren't you like the rest of us?"

Her grandmother hadn't seemed to hear her. She was looking out the window, lost in another time. She looked deflated; as if everything she'd just told Mary had drained her, all of it she'd been holding in for years. Mary was going to ask again when her grandmother finally answered her.

"I don't know. I've wondered that myself," she turned back to face Mary and shrugged. "I really don't know. Maybe it mutates with each generation or something. And Emily isn't exactly like me. She was created to be this way."

"Do my parents know about all of that?"

Her grandmother drank the rest of her coffee. Mary had only drank about half of hers. Nurse Owens had told her to be careful of caffeine.

"They know some of it," her grandmother replied. "I didn't tell them about the spaceship or about rebels or any of that." She stood up, pulling at the gold cross on her necklace. "We thought the less they knew, the better it would be for them. It happened a long time ago. And your grandfather and I just thought it was over. We thought we were just going to be like this," she gestured around her house. "Living here, in a semi-prison, and that would be it. If anything ever happened, there wouldn't be anything we could do about it."

"So, the rebels," Mary said. "Their blood is…acid? It kills people? And it's really green?"

"No, not them. The other ones have toxic blood. If you stab them in the right place, they just die. That's it."

"Did you stab one?"

Her grandmother fell silent.

Here it is again. She's folding it all up now, shutting down, and withholding. Mary got her answers, and there wouldn't be anything more for now.

Her grandmother went into the kitchen and came back in with another cup of coffee. She sat down at the table and reached across for Mary's hand.

"When I was pregnant with your father, I couldn't keep him safe." She was choosing her words carefully, purposefully. Mary didn't like how she was looking at her, watching her face, watching her expression, staring her down with such intensity that Mary wanted to turn away. "There were people that wanted to take him away from me. That was why I gave him up for adoption. He wasn't safe with me."

Mary sat there, feeling her grandmother's hand tighten around hers. Mary had already known this, but the way her grandmother was saying it now was different.

She knows.

Mary swallowed. She would have to know. Why else would she be talking about this?

"I still don't really know who they were," her grandmother continued, staring into Mary's face. "But he wasn't safe with me. He had to go to a place where he would be protected."

Mary said nothing.

"They knew what he was," her grandmother said, her voice low. She looked down at Mary's stomach, and Mary didn't even try to hide it.

She knows.

Could her grandmother feel her hand starting to shake?

"It's the hardest thing to do, give over your child to someone else, no matter how much you love them. Loving them is important, but it can't always keep them from harm. Sometimes you have to do what is best for them. Do you understand?"

Mary looked around. Someone must be listening. She nodded quickly.

Before Mary left, her grandmother hugged her tightly for a long time; almost as if she didn't want Mary to leave. It surprised her. Had she ever hugged her like this before?

"Listen," her grandmother said, taking one of Mary's hands in both of hers. "If you ever, _ever_ , feel like you are in danger, you come here. Don't go to see your mother or your father, come _here._ Okay?"

Mary looked down at her and really wished her grandmother was like the rest of them. She would be able to hear her thoughts right now.

"Okay," Mary hugged her again before she left. She really hated leaving her all alone in that house.

But she knows. In a way, Mary was relieved that she didn't have to say it. Her grandmother wanted her to know, without making Mary tell her the truth, that her children would have a place to go if they were ever in danger. But Mary wasn't going to let that happen. Her children would always be safe with her and their father. She would never give them up. Ever.

In her room in Sarah Clinton's house, Mary slowly sat up and that made the pressure on her bladder worse. She was going to have to be quiet going down the hall to the bathroom. As far as anyone knew, there was no one in this bedroom now. They'd all been told Mary had returned to the South with the SRP.

She opened the door and shut it as quietly as she could and shuffled down the hall, forgetting which direction the bathroom was in. It was dark. No lights on anywhere to conserve energy. When Mary finally found it and relieved herself, she thought maybe she should stay in here a minute in case she had to go again. She knew she would just as soon as she got back to her room and lay down. The urge seemed to happen every five minutes. She washed her hands quietly and eased herself down to sit on the floor of the bathroom, making sure the lights were off and the door was locked.

She put her hands on her tummy, wondering if the twins could feel her. Just then, she felt a little nudge, a poke inside her like a bubble popping. Mary put her hand there and waited, hoping she'd feel it again.

Another little nudge. Tears came to her eyes. They were moving! She could feel them now! She covered her mouth so no one would hear her happy cries. There was another little kick, then another one.

"Are you telling me hello?" She whispered. "Mommy says hello, too, and she loves you both very much." She wiped away the tears, and wished Leonard could be here. She should have brought her phone in here with her.

She thanked God over and over that she hadn't lost them and that they were alive and moving around inside her. It meant they were okay and doing what all babies did, albeit very early. But it seemed to make sense considering what she was and what Leonard was, too. Children like theirs wouldn't need nine months to develop.

She sat there for a while, hoping she'd feel another kick or something, but she didn't.

She was getting ready to get up and go back to bed, when she heard a voice down the hall and footsteps.

Mary held her breath. They were coming right down this way. The voice was soft but she could tell it was Sarah's voice. She sounded upset.

"Fine! Fine! I told you I'd do it, now will you stop bullying me?" Sarah's hissing whisper came down the hall and underneath the bathroom door.

Mary sat as still as she could. What was Sarah doing over here? Wasn't her bedroom on the other side or something?

She heard Sarah's voice get softer and the footsteps move away, then come back again. Mary figured out that Sarah was pacing up and down the hallway, talking to someone on her phone.

"I said I would do it! Do you ever just listen? Don't interrupt me! I said…" Sarah's voice faded as she paced in the other direction, then got louder as she came closer again. "…said the red-headed girl. That's her? I guess I can…" her voice faded again.

Mary sat very still. Red-headed girl?

"…if they hurt my children, even if they don't mean to, I'll have to give…"

Mary still just sat there, barely breathing.

Red-headed girl?

Mary tried to think if there was anyone around besides her with red hair. Didn't one of Sarah's assistants have red hair? But that assistant was male.

"…going into labor. But how can we get them here? And I swear on all that is holy if those kids do…"

Mary felt like Sarah could hear the sound of her heart, rapidly pounding away, making Mary feel dizzy. It was a good thing she was sitting down.

The sound of Sarah's footsteps stopped just a couple of feet from the bathroom. "I'm not doing that!" Her voice was still a whisper, but it was panicked and anxious. "I won't be a part of that! You do it!" There was a pause as whoever Sarah was talking to said something. It sounded like Sarah was trying to interrupt, beginning to speak, but the person on the other end wasn't letting her talk. "Okay, okay! You win! Just don't say anything about…"

Mary cursed inwardly as Sarah's footsteps continued down the hall, carrying her voice with them.

Mary hadn't had pregnancy sickness in a while, but she felt like she was going to be sick right then. She strained to hear the rest of what Sarah was saying, but her voice and footsteps disappeared down the hall then were gone all together.

She didn't move for a long time.

Red-headed girl.

Labor.

Children.

Mary didn't know who Sarah had been talking to, but Mary knew who they were talking about…

Why would Sarah be talking about her? Sarah had never really said anything to her at all or even looked in her direction since they'd arrived. And who else would she be talking to? She'd thought she'd hidden her pregnancy rather well, but apparently not well enough.

Mary didn't know how long she sat there with Sarah's words spinning around in her head. Was she going to get discharged now? Oh, God…was she talking to Lieutenant Skinner? What would they do to her children? They couldn't take them away, could they?

She wished she'd brought her phone in here with her. She had to tell someone.

Mary carefully got up, quietly exited the bathroom, and just as quietly went back into her room. She picked up her phone, tapping open the screen. There was a message there waiting for her. Mary opened it and saw that it was from Esther:

 _You'll NEVER guess who I saw at the airport!_

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _2049_

 _West Region_

 _10:00pm_

Johnny Ucan watched the time on his phone change to 10:00pm, and turned to the door to wait for Olivia to show up. He didn't know her last time. She'd said it, but it was in some Aleut language he didn't understand. He hadn't bothered asking her to repeat it, and he was annoyed her people had come down here from the North Region anyway. She was from an Inuit clan on the North/West border that migrated here when the NRP didn't meet all their demands.

Plus, she smelled bad and didn't care at all about the moustache growing at the corners of her mouth.

She ate really gross things, too, and he'd asked her in his own language if she was eating whale blubber. She never answered, so he assumed she couldn't understand him. He took that opportunity to voice his annoyance with her, in his native language, happy she had no idea what he was saying.

Johnny was mad he was stuck down here anyway. When the WRP found out about his qualifications, he'd was asked to personally oversee a classified project. He'd had no indication at the time it would be this: spending his precious evening hours baby-sitting dated equipment in order to "listen" for phantom signals that had come to a dead stop weeks ago. He also thought the WRP had asked him to do this because of his ancestry; Johnny was half Mayan.

Johnny was still trying to figure out if that was racist or not.

His people had advanced astronomical data long before the Europeans who stole it and took credit for it. But, of course, pick the Mayan guy to do this. Why not someone else? Anyone could listen. Why him?

Before long, he heard Olivia outside the door as she scanned her handprint, then her retinas were scanned for entry. She waddled in as she usually did, giving him a half-assed nod before she set her lunch box down at her desk.

Thank God.

He stood up, bid Olivia a goodnight, and took the elevator up the two levels to the surface. When he was outside, he lit up his cigarette, taking a long-needed drag. It was a real one. The NAU let his people use tobacco because it was supposed to be for religious and medicinal purposes. He felt justified in believing he was using it for a medical purpose right now.

It was to keep him sane though this long project with no end in sight.

He took a long drag and stared up at the night sky, at the millions of stars shining down over the Mojave Dessert. Somewhere up there were the _Pioneers_ , zooming back into the solar system. Everyone seemed worried about it, like it meant something terrible was going to happen. He wasn't worried at all. The Old Republic didn't know how to build anything that went into space the right way. Those probes were as dumb as the agency that launched them. And that agency had led people to believe there were aliens out there. There was probably life, microscopic life maybe, but nothing intelligent. The North Council had just released several thousands of pages into the archives of eye-witness accounts of UFOs and people claiming to have been abducted along with evidence they'd been coerced into saying these things.

Just a bunch of losers wanting attention, he thought. And the government had taken advantage of their ignorance.

He'd only taken a few drags of his cigarette, when his phone chimed and he took it out. The text was from Olivia.

 _Have you left yet?_

He grunted with irritation and texted back that he was getting in his car.

 _Turn around and come back right now!_

Seriously? He didn't work for her.

He stubbed out the cigarette and put it back in his case to save it for later. He took the elevator back down and entered the secure room. It was in chaos, Olivia standing in the middle of it, her hands on either side of her head.

All the receivers in the room were alive with activity. Dials twitching, beeps and alarms echoing off the walls, an analog screen blinking numbers in a random pattern.

"What the hell?" He looked around, then immediately started recording it on his phone.

Olivia hopped on her laptop and began taking detailed notes of the information. They couldn't really read it right then; the equipment was too old. No one knew how to use this stuff.

"The _Pioneers_ are back!" Johnny exclaimed in his native language.

"No, dummy!" Olivia snapped, saying the words in the same language, pointing to a screen in the middle of the room. "That's not them! It's _Voyager 1_ and _Voyager 2_!"


	25. Chapter 25

_The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2049_

 _4:45pm_

When Emily got to the FBI room, she waited outside the chamber for all the agents, hanging in their cases of Resin, to come out of the walls. After a couple of minutes, the lines finally came to a rest, then rotated slowly to face the back of the chamber with a click and hiss of compressed air.

She walked down the rows until the found the right one. She stopped when she got close to the far end and saw John Doggett, and then she lay her shopping bag and purse on the bench behind her. She crossed herself, then got down on her knees.

She recited the Lord's Prayer in Spanish, then she said a prayer in English for each one of them: Fox Mulder, John Doggett, and Walter Skinner. She pulled daisies from her shopping bag and set a vase filled with them in front of each of the three men. She made the sign of the cross again, and sat down on the bench in front of them.

Every so often, Emily liked to come here and do this ritual, bringing each of them flowers, a different kind each time. She tried to choose a day and time when the Memorial would be less crowded so she wouldn't be interrupted. She wanted to pay her respects and assure their spirits - resting with the Father, Son, and Holy Virgin - that they were not forgotten.

Emily hadn't really known John Doggett or Walter Skinner, but they'd come to her daughter's baptism anyway. Both of them had seemed to know of her. Emily guessed her mother must have told them about her. She would never forget their kindness that day. Walter Skinner had gone through a great deal of trouble to get into the country to attend. She would never forget him, or that her mother had thought to invite him.

And then there was Mulder, her father. Her adopted father.

He wasn't able to make it a legal adoption, because he wasn't able to legally marry her mother before he died. But he still treated Emily as if she was his own daughter. He'd always been so generous and caring to her, wrapping her up in a big hug each time he saw her, asking her if she needed anything. She'd never had a father before. Not until she met him.

She still had a difficult time thinking of him that way, though. He'd been so disgusted when he'd found out what she and William had done.

She looked away from him as she thought about it, feeling ashamed, but he'd forgiven her and made her promise to take care of her mother for him before he died.

"I miss you," she said to him quietly, the syllables echoing off the ceiling.

At least he looked peaceful. No longer in any pain.

She thought maybe he'd been so kind to her because he remembered her from a time she couldn't remember herself.

Emily had really tried to remember her life before Barbados and Honduras. Her mother had even taken her to a hypnotist, but she couldn't remember a thing. Her mother told her all about that time; that Emily had been sick; that she'd tried to adopt Emily; that she'd given Emily her gold cross necklace.

But Emily couldn't remember any of it. She knew she'd had a life somewhere before she'd been found, but it was just a void, a blank part in her memories.

Her first memory consisted of sitting up in a wooden pew in a cathedral, a stuffed, blue elephant in her arms. Emily had sat there for a long while, not knowing where she was or what to do, when she heard two women talking quietly behind her. When she turned to look at them, it looked like they were wearing white bed sheets around them and over their heads. Emily had been afraid of them at first. She'd thought they were ghosts.

Both women had approached her slowly, sitting down in the pew in front of her.

"Hola, cariño, cuál es tu nombre?" one of them had asked her gently with a smile.

Emily remembered pulling the stuffed elephant closer to her.

"Hablas español?"

Emily had tried to hide her face behind the elephant. She didn't know what the woman was saying.

The woman who'd spoken to her nudged the other one. That woman was older. She smiled at Emily, too. "Do you speak English?" she asked, her voice accented.

Emily remembered understanding that woman better, but she said nothing.

"What's your name, little one? Are you lost?"

Emily had thought about it for a minute. What was her name? She hadn't remembered right then, but she did later.

And that was where her life began, as far as she could recall.

Those two women – Sister Louisa and Sister Consuela – had taken her in and raised her, along with all the other nuns, first in Barbados then later in Honduras. Emily knew they'd passed away a long time ago, but she hadn't been back to Honduras to visit their graves. She was permanently banned from foreign travel, because she was an immigrant. She missed them, though. She wished she could pay her respects to them as well, but she prayed for them every night before she went to bed.

Emily smiled when the she thought about her stuffed elephant. She still didn't know where it had come from, but she carried it with her everywhere she went for the longest time. When she was older, she set it up on her pillows after she made her bed, then she brought it with her when she left Honduras with William and came to the NAU. The stuffed elephant stayed in one of her boxes when she and William had lived together, then she gave it to Mary when she was little.

The elephant was still in her house, vacuum-sealed in a container with other sentimental items from her life. She'd never given that elephant a name. It had just been her shield; her security blanket. She'd never had the heart to give it away.

Her phone vibrating in her pocket jarred her from her thoughts. She looked at it to see that it was William, and immediately answered.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied. "What are you doing? Are you with a patient?"

"No. I'm at the Memorial."

"Which kind did you bring this time?"

"Daisies. They're different colors. I thought they were cheerful."

She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was smiling.

"I wish I could be there," he said.

"Me, too. Did something come up?"

"No. Well…" he sighed heavily. "I'm not going to be there tonight or all through the rest of the weekend. Ephraim and Eve are coming in. I told them I'd be here."

"Oh. They're coming in just for two days?"

"Yeah, well, they probably just need to do laundry and ask for money," he sighed again.

"No Esther?"

"Nope. No Esther." He paused. It sounded like he was typing. "She's gotten more piercings. She sent me a picture. Madison might just rip them all out of her face when she sees her."

Emily was secretly pleased that Madison's children were spoiled, rebellious little brats. Not Emily's daughter. Mary had been a sweet, sensitive little girl. Emily had raised Mary to be polite and treat others with respect. Emily was proud of her, but she did feel bad for the triplets. William had tried to get Madison into rehab, but Madison refused. Madison did, however, protect this family with her silence. That meant protecting Emily and Mary, too.

"So, um…" William began. "If you, you know, want to…I won't be around so…"

He could hardly say it. It was hard for him to say it.

He didn't have a good reason to be upset or envious in the least. He'd gotten married and had three other children. He had no right to be upset if Emily ever decided to do the same. For the longest time, Emily hadn't wanted to do the same. She was content with her work and raising Mary.

But then she met someone.

"I don't know if he's coming up or not," Emily said softly. "He might have too much to do."

"Yeah, well…" William's voice was strained.

Emily and William had lived in the same house together, but sharing a space again was too much. So, they went to great lengths to make sure they didn't cross that boundary again. They remodeled the house into a duplex – William on one side, Emily on the other.

They tried very hard to be like normal siblings. Neither one of them wanted to be like they'd been in the past. It had been difficult for both of them to get to this point. Maybe in another life, on another planet, things would have been different. But they couldn't be without each other; the bond between them was too strong. At least for several years now, they'd managed to keep their relationship chaste and appropriate.

"I actually called about something else, though." William said.

"What?"

"Do you know Gibson Praise?"

Emily thought about it for a minute. "The new Secretary?"

"Yeah, but like before that, before he was appointed? Have you ever met him or talked to him?"

"No. I don't think so. Why?"

William was quiet for a few seconds before he answered. "He knows about Mary. He knows I'm her father."

Emily swallowed a lump in her throat.

How would anyone know about that?

William was not on Mary's birth certificate. It was just Mary's UID number; not her name or any other identifying information. In the mother portion Emily was listed as "Immigrant –Honduras." The father portion was empty. Emily told people Mary's father came from a catalogue in a sperm bank. At the time, that story had been created out of Emily's belief that she would never see William again. Now, it was more important than ever that Mary never be connected to William.

"Did they ever mention Gibson Praise or talk about him to you at all?" William asked.

Emily knew he was talking about their parents, but she couldn't recall them ever mentioning that name. "No. Does he want money? Did he threaten to hurt Mary?"

"No, he didn't want anything."

"When did you speak to him?"

"He just came into my office. He, um…" William was hesitating before he said the next part. "I've met him before. When I was staying with that Amish family."

"Was he Amish?"

"He said he wasn't. He said our mother told him about Mary."

Emily was astonished. Why would their mother tell anyone? She'd been so ashamed of them. Why would she talk to anyone about that?

"How does he know her? Did he say?"

"He said they helped him. That was it."

Emily tried to think if she'd heard anything at all about Gibson Praise; maybe when her mother had been talking to someone else and thought Emily wasn't able to hear? Her mother had many secretive phone calls over the years, but Emily was coming up blank on this.

"I don't know," William said. "It was just so weird him showing up like that. I thought maybe you'd heard something about him."

"They were not really all that open with me. Not as much as you think."

"Can you ask her? Can you ask our mother about him?"

"Why can't you?"

"She hasn't answered a phone call or responded to a text from me going on four months now."

Emily had tried to make peace between her mother and half-brother, but it hadn't really worked. Emily encouraged William to send their mother birthday and Christmas cards, but there was a canyon between them now. Their parents had always favored Emily over William, and both William and Emily knew it. So, Emily did her best to close that gap. Their father had forgiven William; so Emily was sure their mother would, too, one day. They just had to be patient and persistent.

But the new South Regional Secretary knowing about Mary's paternity, whether their mother had told him or not, was disconcerting. Emily knew Mary had been traveling around the country with him. Had Mary let something slip in a conversation or something?

"Well, if he doesn't want money, then there has to be a reason why he'd come into your office and talk about her," Emily said. "If it's not money he wants, then there's got to be something else."

"I don't know," William sounded tired and like he wanted to change the subject. "I was just hoping you'd heard about him before. I don't think he means any harm."

Emily hoped Mr. Praise really didn't. She couldn't imagine that Mary would talk to him or anyone at all about those things.

"I have to go soon," William said wearily. "There's a shipment coming in from LAC and another one from NARA later."

"Oh, my. I thought that was all done?"

"It's Cold War stuff and 19th century Parliament. It's never going to be done." He paused. "Some of it might be FBI stuff."

Emily knew that if their parents were in any Old Republic files at all, their information wouldn't be redacted. Maybe she and William would get some insight into their lives back then if any of that material were released into the archives. They'd never liked to talk about any of that.

"Did you see Mary while she was there?" Emily asked cautiously.

"No. She wasn't with Praise. She was with Covarrubias."

Emily had hoped Mary would come see her while she was in the East, but all Emily got was a phone call. Mary was very distant these days. All her statements short and to the point. She used to confide in her mother, even telling her about a boy she'd met at the academy, but not so much anymore.

"I should get off here now," William said. "I'll see you Monday or next week sometime."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too." Then he hung up.

Emily typed "Gibson Praise" into the browser on her phone. There were thousands of images of him, and he'd only been appointed a short time ago. He didn't look familiar at all, but he was a very serious looking man. He didn't smile at all.

Emily tried to find an image where Mary might have been photographed with him, but none of the green uniforms walking alongside Mr. Praise was her. There was one image of him walking up to meet Sarah Clinton, President Covarrubias walking beside him.

The SRP wasn't wearing her sunglasses or wide-brimmed hat that she usually wore. Emily stared at the side of her face; there was a scar across her cheek.

Emily's hands got clammy and her heart pounded.

Emily zoomed into the image. There was something…something about her that made Emily feel panicked. She zoomed in more, bringing her phone closer to her face.

Just then, Emily heard a clattering sound behind her, like someone dropping their phone on the tile. Emily spun around. She looked up and down the row, but there was no one there.

Emily sighed. There was probably another patron in here. It wasn't the first time she'd come down here to do this and someone had been wandering around in the FBI room.

She gathered up her bags and walked out of the chamber to the entrance. She stopped before she got out into the hall, digging around in her purse. Where were her keys? She pulled all the items out of her purse, but they weren't in there. She'd parked at the train station just outside of the Center. The clinic she worked at was only about sixty kilometers away.

She turned to walk back to the bench she'd been sitting on, walking past all the rows of dead federal agents. As she passed by one row, in her peripheral vision, she thought she saw someone standing at the end. She stopped and backed up.

There was no one there.

An unusual feeling came over her. The hairs on her arms were standing up as goosebumps formed on her skin.

She quickly retraced her steps, found her keys on the bench, and turned to leave again, but then she heard someone walking around a couple of rows behind her.

She stopped.

That feeling, a creeping and nauseating feeling, was getting stronger. It sounded like someone was taking a couple of steps then stopping; like they were moving down the row and stopping to look at each agent.

Something didn't feel right. She needed to get out of here.

Emily left the chamber, and turned around to watch the lights turn off and the dead agents retract back into the walls. She looked around the now-empty space.

There was no one in there at all.

She heard the clattering sound again, a few feet away from her right side, and she whipped her head in that direction.

Her skin felt chilled; there was a static-like feeling moving over her head.

Emily didn't have a gun. She'd probably been in this country long enough as a citizen to apply for a license. Emily didn't like guns, though. It was a gun that killed Sister Louisa and Sister Josephine when a drug gang came rampaging into the church in Honduras. The sound of gunfire frightened Emily even now.

But she had mace.

She carefully pulled it from her purse, and turned the nozzle, ready to aim if she needed to.

It felt like someone was in here with her, watching her. She didn't like this feeling, and it was a familiar feeling. She'd felt like this when she'd thought she was alone in the past.

She looked up at the Memorial Guide on the ceiling. "Map, please."

It projected all the floors and chambers that made up the Memorial in front of her. "Where would you like to go today?"

Emily thought about it for a split second. "National Rifle Association."

That room would have to be more secure, right? So no one tried to steal all the antique firearms on display? Maybe whoever was in here wouldn't try to follow her in there. She was worried if she went out to the train, they'd follow her on there and to her car.

"NRA," the Memorial Guide said as it formed into a 3D map in front of her. "Subfloor 13. Please follow the lighted path to your destination."

The NRA was right in between the DEA and ATF. That more or less made sense.

Emily took out her phone and pulled up Memorial Security on her screen. She looked down at the arrows and followed them to the correct elevator. The electric, creeping feeling receded a little.

Emily pressed the up arrow on the elevator. She looked around her, hoping there wasn't really anyone following her. She'd been followed before. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a figure at the end of the hall, she turned to look.

No one there.

When the elevator doors opened, Emily was still looking to the side down the hallway. Once again, she saw someone out of the corner of her eye, someone standing in the elevator.

She turned to look, then screamed.

* * *

 _The African Union_

 _Cape Town_

 _2049_

 _9:09pm_

Esther tried to call Mary again before she left her hotel room and boarded her next flight.

Mary hadn't responded to any of Esther's calls or texts over the last couple of days, and it was starting to annoy her.

She was dying to tell Mary that she'd seen the SRP and also wanted to know why Mary wasn't with her. Wasn't that what Mary did all time? Follow her around everywhere?

Esther listened to the call connect and ring several times before it went to voicemail.

"Answer your phone!" Esther shouted, then hung up.

Esther was thoroughly annoyed, but she knew it sometimes took Mary a few days to get back to her.

Esther had been hoping she'd get to be on a flight with one of the Presidents one day, especially President Hosteen, but she hadn't expected to see the SRP that night.

She looked like a major bitch. Esther wanted to know if she really was. She was sure she was, but she wanted to ask Mary to make sure.

The SRP had just walked right past her, not even looking at her, with her new Regional Secretary right behind her. Esther thought he was boarding the flight, too, but he came back, glancing over at her as he walked briskly past, a few North Guards trailing along behind him.

Esther thought he was kind of cute. He looked better in person than he did in the images on the news, and _much_ better than the last guy. Wasn't he all fat? She thought Praise had very interesting eyes. She eyed him up and down as he walked off, then he turned his head back to look at her again.

She smiled and waved.

Mary was so lucky she got to be around such attractive and important people all the time.

Esther put away her phone, hoping Mary would respond soon, as she left the hotel to catch the taxi. There was a couple outside of the hotel speaking Zulu. Esther sort of understood it. She'd learned so many languages and seen so many fascinating places in her travels. The African Union was probably the most fascinating.

When she was little, she learned that Africa was made up of one big Serengeti, which consisted of lions, cheetahs, and half-naked people starving to death. But that wasn't what she saw each time she came here. Their railway system rivaled the NAU's, and as she rode to the airport she looked out her window at giant skyscrapers, lit up with neon blues, purples, and greens; the letters AU at the top of each one with lights that flickered against a black sky. The cityscape here was breath-taking, and looked like some kind of otherworldly, alien city at night. Business men and women stood at train stations with blinking earpieces, speaking a variety of languages; mostly Zulu, Afrikaans, Swahili, and a little bit of English here and there. These people weren't half-naked or starving, and she'd never seen a lion or a cheetah each time she'd been here.

Esther exited the taxi at the airport. She dragged her luggage up to the plane and scanned her badge at the entrance.

The screen lit up: _Esther Mulder, Flight Attendant, Pay Grade 2,_ and then the door unlocked letting her inside.

After she put away her luggage, she quickly got to work, placing the complimentary ear plugs on all the seats and making sure there were enough oxygen masks for the launch. She was about halfway down one of the rows when she saw a man sitting in one of the seats. He wore big, dark glasses paired with a long, black beard that covered up most of his face.

She exhaled with annoyance. They weren't boarding yet.

"Sir," Esther said as she approached him. "I'm going to have to ask you to deplane. We haven't started boarding passengers yet."

"It's alright," he said, holding up a badge to show he was in the NAU government.

Esther was miffed. She couldn't kick him off now. She liked kicking stupid people off the plane.

"Do you know how these lights work?" the man asked her, pointing to the LEDs above the seats.

"You just push that button there," Esther said impatiently, pointing at it. She couldn't explain why, but she was getting an eerie feeling at that moment, a static-like energy moving around her.

"Okay, thanks." The man pulled out an eMorley. "Is there a lounge on here?"

Esther disguised her irritation as best she could. "Yes, sir, down that way."

"Could you show me?"

Esther tried not to look impatient and put on a fake, agreeable smile. "Sure." Whatever she had to do to get the hell away from him. He was creeping her out.

There was a lounge area on this plane. The whole flight back to the NAU would only take about an hour and half, but it was considered a "long" flight. "Long" flight planes had more space and areas where passengers could leave their seats to relax and stretch out a little bit.

Esther led him down to the lounge, then went back to get caught up on her work. She was behind now.

When passengers started boarding, Esther and another flight attendant did their first count, then went up to the cockpit to make sure the doors were locked and secure. There were three pilots in there.

Once everyone was seated, Esther followed one other flight attendant down the rows as he did the final count, and she checked to make sure everyone was putting in the ear plugs or at least wearing headphones or earbuds to block out the engine noise, especially any children. She also made sure people were putting on their oxygen masks properly. There was always some macho asshole who thought he wouldn't lose consciousness during the ascent. The ascent only took a few minutes. People didn't have to wear them for long, and the masks were small enough not to be too cumbersome.

At least all the flight attendants were well-trained in how to handle those types of scenarios. There was always some idiot that didn't pay attention to how to wear the oxygen mask correctly or bother to put it on at all.

Esther noticed one empty seat, the one where that annoying bearded man had been sitting. She tugged on the other flight attendant's shirt sleeve. "Hey," she whispered to him. "We're missing a passenger."

He ignored her as he continued with his count.

Esther grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. "We're missing someone."

"Let me finish!" he retorted.

Where was that man?

Esther went into the lounge first, but there was no one in there. Then she went to each of the toilets, which were all vacant, knocking on the doors in case he was in there.

"Sir," Esther said as she knocked on each door. "We're getting ready to launch. Please go back to your seat."

There was no reply, so Esther started opening up all the doors hoping she wouldn't catch someone on the toilet. "Sir," she called. "Are you over here?"

No answer.

She went to the front where the flight attendants sat during take-off to find her supervisor. They couldn't launch if a passenger was out of their seat.

"Hey!" Esther said to her. "We're missing a passenger."

Her supervisor turned to look at her.

"We can't launch until we find him," Esther said.

"Where was he sitting?"

"He was in AA Seat 3. He's not there. He's NAU government. He boarded before everyone else."

"There was no one on here early. I did the preliminary count."

"Yes, there was!" Esther insisted. "He was in the lounge. He wanted me to show him where it was." She left out the part about him being a little creepy.

Esther's supervisor went into the cabin, walking down the rows, Esther following her.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the announcement came through the cabin. "Welcome aboard NAU Airways, Flight 17 to the South Region of the North American Union."

Esther felt the plane turn. It was coasting down the runway to where it would launch.

She was worried. They couldn't launch with a passenger missing. That was one of the signs of a hijacker.

"Him?" Her supervisor said, pointing to row AA Seat 3.

There was a man sitting there, but he was an African man.

"No," Esther replied. "He was a white guy. Had a beard and dark glasses. That's not him."

The supervisor eyed her for minute. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes," Esther said. "That's not him."

"….the NAU in about ninety-two minutes. Please make sure you've put on your oxygen masks properly…" the announcement continued as the plane sped up a little.

The supervisor looked torn for a minute, looking around the cabin at people putting on their masks and earplugs for the ascent. "Okay. Let's go up to the cockpit then."

Esther followed her up there, still looking around for that man. Maybe he'd moved to a different seat, but Esther didn't see him anywhere.

The supervisor typed in the distress code so the cockpit doors would open. Esther could feel the plane rumble as the first engines fired at the beginning of the launch sequence.

They had to stop soon. Once the launch sequence reached a certain stage, it was hard to stop it.

One of the pilots typed in the response code, the doors opened, and she stepped into the cabin. "What is it?"

"We're missing a passenger." The supervisor said. "We have to delay the launch."

Another set of engines came on, drowning out any other sounds. Esther couldn't hear what her supervisor was saying or what the co-pilot said.

The wings of the plane retracted slightly, and moved towards the tail, as it gathered more speed, making the three of them stumble around.

Esther saw her supervisor's mouth moving. Esther couldn't hear her, but she knew by her gestures what she wanted Esther to do.

Esther hesitated for a few seconds, but went to her seat, strapping herself in, putting on her oxygen mask, and ear plugs. Her seat faced the cabins. During the launch, Esther would be pushed forward while all the other passengers would be pushed back in their seats. This part used to make her queasy, and during her first flew flights she'd run to the toilet to vomit once it was safe to get up. Now, it hardly bothered her at all.

But right this minute she did feel sick. They were launching anyway with a missing passenger. Esther shut her eyes, feeling her body being thrust forwards as the plane's speed increased again. She could feel the incline starting. A third set of engines, layering more noise over the other two, cut on.

The wheels folded up and the thrusters on the bottom kicked in to take the plane off the ground.

Esther kept her eyes squeezed shut. Please don't let the plane blow up.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that bearded man at the far end of the aisle directly in front of her. She tried to turn her head to her supervisor to get her attention. He was just standing there at the end of the aisle, hardly bothered by the force from the take-off. How was he able to just stand there?

He took off his dark glasses and looked directly at Esther.

Her heart pounded; an electric feeling wove its way up her spine, crackling its way all around her limbs, her skin pulling so tight it almost hurt. There was a sound in her head; it sounded like dozens of voices were screaming at her. No one else seemed to notice him or see him at all. Was she the only one that could see him?

He stared at Esther for a few seconds with glowing, blue-white eyes before they went completely black.

It took Esther only a moment to notice that the man wasn't actually standing.

He was floating.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _6:11am_

Mary leaned her head against the window of the train as they sped down the Northwest Corner, her eyes closing. The clink of ice pellets and rain drops on the windows was like a lullaby. She and Nurse Owens had gotten up early to board a train out of the North Region ahead of Gibson and the other South Guards.

Mary didn't get much sleep last night. Now that Albert and Melissa were moving around, they never seemed to stop; each little flutter and kick inside Mary woke her up. They didn't seem to like it when Mary slept on her right side, so she lay on her left side, but it was uncomfortable. She was used to sleeping on her stomach. And forget sleeping on her back. She would wake up with aches all down her spine and neck from the extra weight.

She was also up every half hour to the bathroom. Up, down, up, down all night long. It was impossible to sleep.

She lay in her bed last night in between episodes thinking about how she was going to have to do this again. There would be more besides Albert and Melissa. She hated to admit it to herself, but she dreaded it. Pregnancy was not fun. Not at all. Maybe ordinary women had a different experience. Mary hoped it would get easier. Mary knew there were women all over the world that had ten children, fifteen, twenty, or even more. If they could make it through so many pregnancies and births, then Mary could, too.

She really tried to be grateful, though. She felt guilty about her thoughts. Albert and Melissa were just fine. They would have a mother _and_ a father to take care of them and love them.

Thinking about that cheered Mary up a little. She was going home. Home to her husband, and they would have their family here. She smiled at the thought lazily as her eyes closed again.

Mary felt a jab inside her. She grunted, rubbing the spot with her hand.

"Are you alright?" Nurse Owens asked, looking up from her book.

"Yes. One of them just kicked me. They're moving around a lot."

Nurse Owens beamed at her. "That's a good sign."

Mary smiled back. "They're going to be a handful. I can tell already."

Nurse Owens put away her book and scooted closer to Mary. "I've been thinking about what you asked," she looked around the train car, lowering her voice. "I'll help you. And him, too. But we have to wait to do the procedure until you're not nursing anymore. And we'll have to find a NAU clinic. I'm not NAU-approved, but I know of someone that might be and won't ask too many questions."

Mary nodded. She'd decided to go through with it after all. She'd been afraid if she did, it would only make the worst happen. But after that bleeding episode and her fear over losing the twins, she decided that she and Leonard needed to do this. It would ensure that Colonization would continue if anything ever happened to either one of them.

Mary's phone chimed. She took it out to see the alarm she'd set on it last night. Kersh was giving his first speech today. It was airing live in the East Region, which meant it would broadcast later in the West. Mary wanted to make sure she didn't miss it.

But she was afraid to watch.

It was something she needed to see, something she needed to pay attention to, but it made her want to turn her face away and hide under the bed, too. She hoped he would be a terrible speaker and everyone would think he was a moron. But Avenham had actually been a moron, and people still voted him in. Should Kersh be smart, then?

She'd checked the site when she woke up that morning and watched a live feed from the auditorium. There were already hundreds of citizens lining up to go into the building and a much longer line for the citizens with questions. They got to ask him questions after his speech and none of them were screened ahead of time. Citizens could ask him anything, no matter how personal, outlandish, or disturbing it was. Maybe someone would ask Kersh something that would trip him up; maybe he'd embarrass himself and that would be the end of it.

But that would not be the end of it.

ERP or not, he was still alive. Alive and well.

Mary thought he might not do anything to her grandmother. After all, Mary had saved his life. He should be grateful to her. But he knew something about Mary now: she let a convict go. Mary could still get prison time for that.

She knew that NAU correctional institutions were the worst in the world. All of them maximum security and isolation was used liberally. Convicts only spent a short time in a cell, though. Executions were carried out rather swiftly and with little to no chance for a reprieve. It was because only violent criminals served prison time. Someone caught selling or using illegal drugs, white collar criminals, hackers, or thieves who carried out their crime without harming anyone served no prison time, but they lost their privacy rights, voting rights, and had to give up their firearms. Mary knew there were more charges depending on the type of crime and how many violations a person already had, but she didn't know all of it. Mary hadn't committed a violent crime, but she'd let a murderer live. She would get prison time for that. She'd be charged as an accomplice.

It made her shudder inside.

Or was that just Albert and Melissa moving around?

Kersh had something to hold over her. That's what upset her. He had something to bargain with, something to manipulate her with.

And what did she have? Missing profiles on the Internet? His inmate information had been purged and maybe he had actually crossed into citizenship somehow and his Old Republican status was erased.

Mary heaved a sigh. Nothing was certain yet. Maybe one of those citizens lining up would be a lunatic and they'd shoot him.

She pushed it all out of her mind, shoving it out, telling herself she would worry about it later. Right now, she needed a nap.

She settled into her seat and tried to sleep.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _8:57am_

As the train left the station, Gibson checked the time again on his phone.

He could not miss Kersh's speech. He'd already silenced all his notifications and emails in preparation. He couldn't miss it.

He knew the SRP was down South right now, berating her Council into rejecting him. That is, if they'd all shown up. Last he'd heard, she was still missing a few. This was the only chance she was going to get. When they commenced again at the beginning of the New Year, they would make their final decision.

She was a nervous wreck, too. When he'd woken up that morning, he'd had to scroll through dozens of messages she'd sent him all through the night. Exclamation points everywhere, words and phrases all jumbled together.

But Gibson was wondering now about how much damage Kersh could actually do. There was a reason why there were four Presidents. It balanced out the distribution of power. All four of them were on the same level; one didn't rule over the others. It kept political parties and individuals from having too much control. It was all divided up and ensured a multitude of public concerns and issues were represented. Plus, the NAU was too big for just one person. There had to be four.

Even if Kersh didn't win, he was well-aware of Gibson and Covarrubias now. He knew where they were at all times. All he had to do was turn on his television or open up his Internet browser.

Gibson still wasn't exactly sure what it was, but something had happened between the SRP and Kersh long before Jamaica. She was one of the main reasons why the Syndicate turned on him. It didn't really matter now, however. First, they had to keep him from being the new ERP. Next, they would worry about if he would come after them.

Because he would. They'd left him there.

They'd left him with all the others with no food or water, locked up underground. Death from dehydration and/or starvation was torture. Their corpses were probably still there. Island 6 was practically deserted. Alvin Kersh should have died on that island, but he'd made it out somehow.

 _How?_ That was the question. Kersh had gotten out. Who or what helped him? He couldn't have done it on his own.

Gibson's phone beeped, and he looked at the message. It wasn't from the SRP. It was from a number he didn't recognize, and it was fourteen digits instead of ten:

 _You really suck at your job._

Gibson read it over again. Who in the hell?

Then he realized who it was. A cryptic phone number like that could only come from one person.

Byers.

Gibson swore under his breath and shut off the screen. He didn't have time for Byers right now.

After a few minutes, his phone beeped again, but it was a call coming through from a different fourteen digit number.

Damn him. Not now.

Gibson answered. "What?"

"You suck!"

The voice had been artificially altered to make it sound lower than it actually was. What in the hell was he doing? Gibson knew what Byers sounded like.

"What do you want?" Gibson said angrily.

"How do you like being Regional Secretary now, big boy?"

"Turn that thing off! I know what you sound like, asshole!"

"Asshole? Really? I've got brain cancer!"

"Bye." Gibson hung up.

Gibson was certain he'd hear from Byers again at some point. Especially when the video clips of his chess tournaments became talking points on political shows. People were picking apart every little thing he did as if it all meant something. Ironically, it wasn't even from the clip where Gibson's opponent had been killed. Gibson had never thought when he'd sat through those chess tournaments all those years ago that they would incite political debates one day.

People yapped on and on, argued, and squabbled about how Gibson held the chess pieces, which color he was playing, how each move he made on the board revealed some hidden, sinister part of his personality; how he must have some form of autism or a mental disability to have made him successful; how he must have been abused each time he lost and that's what made him so good.

It made Gibson want to bang his head against a wall.

And hide.

But that had been what Byers did and the reason why Gibson was getting so much attention now. He was the first South Regional Secretary to actually leave the Region in several years.

Gibson's phone beeped again. Another fourteen digit number.

"What?!" Gibson snapped loudly as he answered. The South Guards sitting with him on the train looked over at him.

Byers was laughing. "Is that really you in all those chess videos?" He laughed even harder. "Jesus H. Christ, have you ever gotten laid? Please tell me you're not a virgin. I bet you -"

Gibson hung up. He could have said something about him and Alvarez, but he probably shouldn't be talking about that to anyone. Least of all Byers.

Gibson's phone beeped again, and he answered it without looking. "Knock it off, you dick!"

"Gibson?"

That wasn't Byers' voice.

It was Dana Scully.

"Oh…sorry. I'm sorry," Gibson said, embarrassed. "I thought you were someone else." He couldn't believe he just called Scully a dick.

"Can you talk right now?" Scully asked, her voice hushed.

Gibson glanced around at the South Guards sitting with him. "Not really."

"Okay, well just listen then. The man whose been selected as the ERP candidate used to work with me." Her voice was strangely calm. He could hear voices in the background, the clinking of plates and glasses. She wasn't at home. She was calling him from somewhere else. "If he's elected, Mary's children _cannot_ come here. We have to find somewhere else for them to stay."

Gibson wanted to ask where, but he stayed quiet.

"They might be able to stay with David, but he can't be home with them all day, and my travel allowance won't leave me much time to go up there." She paused for a few minutes. Someone must have been standing near her. "Alvin Kersh and I were far from friendly. I can't explain it to you right now, but," there was another pause as he heard her say a muffled 'excuse me' to someone. "He hated me, and he hated Mulder, too. Mary's children won't be safe here. I won't either."

Gibson didn't say anything. They didn't have nearly as much time as before to find a place for those children. At least the SRP was in the South right now and too distracted with Kersh to plot how to get Mary's and Hosteen's children away from them.

"If he's elected," Scully continued, her voice quieter. "I have to leave the East. Emily, too. We won't be safe here anymore."

"Where will you go?" Gibson asked quietly. Thankfully, none of the South Guards seemed to be paying attention to him.

"I don't know yet." Now she was starting to sound upset. "Or even how I can get out of here. I'll talk to Monica about it. She might be able to get me over to the West. But I can't stay here if Kersh wins."

No, Scully couldn't stay there. But what about William? Couldn't she stay with him? Didn't William live in the North Region? And Gibson knew there was no way Scully would relocate to the South, not with Marita Covarrubias ruling over it. But it did occur to him right then that both Scully and the SRP had this in common – they both wanted Kersh gone. Maybe that could quell the animosity between them. Both of them had a lot to lose if that man became the ERP.

"I just wanted to let you know that," Scully said. "Is Mary doing okay? Do you know what they are yet?"

He started to answer, but she interrupted him.

"Never mind. Don't say anything. Just call me later when you get the chance, okay?"

"Okay," he replied. He was going to have to use his government-issued phone. He could push the call through different connections and keep the number from showing up in her phone records.

After they hung up, he sat there for a few minutes. He didn't know if he should tell Scully about Mary's bleeding episode, but he was going to have to let her know that they didn't have until June. Mary's twins would be here much sooner than they'd planned.

His phone beeped again, and he answered the call. "Gibson."

"You know what I was just thinking? An orangutan could do a better job than you."

Byers again.

He'd stopped using the voice-changer or whatever it was he used. "How did you like meeting that Cast-Iron Bitch of the North? Or Miss Smiley Face? What's her name again? Did you know she grabbed my-"

"What in the hell is your problem?!" Gibson shouted, the Guards turning to look at him again. Gibson could care less if they heard this.

" _I'm_ not the one with the problem!" Byers exclaimed. " _You_ have a problem. A huge problem!"

"Stop calling me!" Gibson took the phone from his ear to hang up.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Byers shouted. "You have a real problem. I'm serious."

Gibson put his phone back to his ear.

"You want to know why you suck?" Byers asked.

Gibson didn't respond. Was he getting ready to tell a dirty joke?

"Here's why: you've got a missing Guard member."

Gibson's heart thudded. "What? Who?" He instantly thought of Mary.

"That one you all left in the East Region. She's missing."

"She's what?" Gibson had forgotten about Dominique. Had she been released already?

"You know, that never happened to me. No Guard member went missing when it was me."

"What do you mean she's missing? Like not in the hospital anymore?"

"Not anywhere. She's gone."

"How do you know that? Did you go see her?"

"You should pay more attention and do your job better. I shouldn't have to tell you this. You should know already."

"When did this happen? When was she reported missing? How long ago?"

Byers laughed. "Not my problem anymore! You'd better get on it Mr. Regional Secretary! Like I said: you suck!"

He laughed again, then hung up.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _1:22pm_

Mary was all curled up on the couch, a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her. Melissa and Albert weren't moving around as much, and Mary was hoping to take a nap, but she was too nervous about Kersh.

What was he going to say? Please let him say something stupid, like wanting to take away people's gun rights or access to marijuana. That would guarantee his downfall. NAU citizens would never give up those things.

Mary tried to sit up. She was alone. Nurse Owens had gone out to buy groceries and left her rifle by the door, telling Mary not to pick it up unless it was absolutely necessary, shaking her finger at Mary the whole time. The place they were staying in was furnished, but there was no food here. Of course, Mary was hungry, so Nurse Owens had gone out to the store.

When they'd arrived in the West, Mary was prepared to be taken somewhere besides the WRP's home. She wasn't in uniform and couldn't perform her official duties, and a random pregnant woman wandering around there was bound to be noticed by someone.

When she and Nurse Owens got off the train, an Apache man came over to them. There was an intricate, long braid over one of his shoulders; a tattoo of a vine mixed with barbed wire across his cheek, over his ear, and down his neck. He wore a red bandana with the insignia of the West Guard on it.

"Are you Corporal Scully?" he asked.

Nurse Owens noted the M4 slung over his shoulder and immediately stood in between him and Mary.

"Yes," Nurse Owens answered firmly. "She's Corporal Scully."

The Apache man stared at Mary's stomach for a second, and she tried to hide it even though there was no point.

He looked at Nurse Owens, who was at least a foot shorter than him, with amusement. "Come with me."

Mary wondered where As He Stands was. Who was this guy? Did he know what was going on?

He helped them load all their luggage into a pickup truck, then drove them down the coast, not too far away from the WRP's home. The three of them sat in the cab all squished together, Nurse Owens in the middle. She looked at the man with a frown as they drove along.

"You shouldn't have a gun so close to a pregnant woman," she scolded him.

He cut his eyes over to her, still looking amused. "Would you like to take it off, then?" He pointed to the strap over his chest. "Be my guest."

She frowned even more and didn't answer him.

He took them to a small beach house. It was one story with huge windows overlooking the Pacific. There were steps leading down from a deck to the beach behind it.

Mary looked around inside. It was nice, but not too fancy, completely furnished with a table and chairs, a sofa, beds, night stands, and everything else they would need. There was an alarm system, too. There were three rooms, one for Mary, one for Nurse Owens, and one small empty room. That was where the twins would be.

Mary felt a surge of panic as she looked around the empty room.

The twins would be here.

They would be here, and she had nothing ready for them. They would need cribs, clothes, bottles, diapers, and all the things most women got at baby showers. There would be no baby shower for her. She sat down in the middle of the room, wanting to cry about how unprepared she was. Nurse Owens came in and sat down beside her, rubbing her shoulders, while the Apache gentleman unloaded all their luggage.

"You don't have to do a thing, now, sweetheart," Nurse Owens said to her gently. "Just rest. That's all you need to do."

Mary looked over at her, still not exactly sure what Nurse Owens was getting out of this. The SRP must be paying her quite a bit.

"Are you hungry?" Nurse Owens asked, brushing Mary's hair away from her face.

Mary smiled. "Yeah." Of course she was. She could always eat now.

"Corporal Scully?" The Apache man stood in the doorway.

Mary turned to look at him.

"Hosteen wanted me to tell you he's in the Mojave, but he'll be here to see you as soon as he can."

Mary thanked him, but he lingered there for a few seconds. He unstrapped his gun, set it in the door frame, and came into the room. He knelt down in front of her, looking down at her stomach, then into her eyes.

Mary saw it. She could see it in his eyes, a shimmering, swirling abyss, like staring into stardust.

He took her hand and kissed it, looking at her with reverence. "You and him give us hope. Hope for a new and better world. For all of us."

Mary just stared back at him completely speechless. Was he both kinds? One kind? Which one?

He looked at her again for another long moment, then stood up. He held out his hand to help her up. "I'm Nathan. Nathan Chee."

"Oh," Mary said nervously. "Which…which kind are you? Are you both?"

"Only one," he smiled. "The good one."

Before she could ask if that meant there was a bad one, he picked up his gun and left. She stared after him.

Was there a bad kind?

Nurse Owens stood up next to her. "He's right," she put her hand on Mary's stomach. "The whole future is right here. That's why it's so important for you to rest." She led Mary out to the sofa and set her down. "Now, what should I get for you? Sunflower seeds and ice cream?"

Mary smiled at her. Nurse Owens knew what she craved all too well.

"Maybe I'll get us a Christmas tree, too. It'll be here before you know it."

Mary felt another surge of panic. She'd been so distracted, she hadn't done her Christmas shopping. She had very few people to buy for anyway. God, she had so much to do.

Mary lay back on the sofa and checked the time again. Was Kersh getting nervous right now? He didn't seem like the kind of man that got nervous. She could see from the live feed that auditorium was packed. Most of the citizens filing in now had to stand in the back.

Mary heard a knock at the door.

She sat up.

Was Nurse Owens back already? Why would she knock?

Another knock. Mary got up and went to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me."

Mary's heart soared. It was her favorite voice in the world. She could hardly get the door open fast enough to see Leonard standing there. He was alone.

He came right through to embrace her. She nearly cried from the relief she felt at seeing him as she hugged him back. His mouth found hers and that flame was there, leaping up inside her. She didn't care at all about anything else or anyone else but him.

And she wanted him.

Now.

They left a trail of clothing from the entrance, down the hallway, and up to her bed as they unzipped, unhooked, and unbuttoned. After making love for who knows how long, Mary lay there with him feeling safe again. Everything was okay now.

Leonard lay behind her, kissing her neck and shoulders, moving his hand down her stomach. She hoped he hadn't noticed all the stretch marks. She was bigger than when he'd seen her last.

"So, they're okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," she replied. She'd told him about the bleeding and that she would be due closer to April. He'd almost flown up to the North Region when she told him. She'd had to calm him down. He'd been worried about her.

"Maybe we shouldn't have done that," he said looking at their clothing trail. "We should be more careful and have more control over ourselves."

But right then Mary didn't want them to. She blushed a little thinking about the chart Nurse Owens showed her.

Mary turned around to face him. "I know what they are now." She'd left this part out. She wanted to tell him face-to-face.

"Girls?"

She shook her head.

"Boys?"

She smiled. "A boy and a girl."

His grin was delighted, elated. "It's perfect."

"Isn't it?" Then she hid her face from him shyly. "I already named them."

"Tell me."

"Melissa and Albert."

He lay there for a minute, trying out the names in his head. "I like Melissa. I don't know about Albert."

"But it's your middle name."

"But it's so…old sounding. What if other kids make fun of him?"

"Albert is a _good_ name. It means 'noble and bright.' Plus, there have been lots of famous men named Albert. There was a Prince Albert and Albert Einstein."

"You've really worked on this argument, I see," he said kissing the tip of her nose.

"I have," she admitted. "I want them to have family names. Wasn't your great-grandfather named Albert?"

"Great-great grandfather," he corrected her. "And he was a good man. At least from all the family stories I've heard. He was a code-talker during World War II."

"Then it's the best name for our first son," Mary said, melting into his arms. "Don't you think?"

He was quiet for a minute. "Okay," he said finally. "Albert and Melissa."

She smiled at him and kissed him.

"But," he said. "I get to pick the next one."

"Okay," Mary agreed.

"Actually, the next two. Even if they're not twins."

"Fine," Mary pretended to be annoyed.

He laughed. "It's only fair."

She cuddled up to him, happy they'd settled on their names. She felt a kick just then. "They're moving," she said, grabbing his hand and placing it over the spot. "Do you feel it?"

After a few seconds, there was more movement.

"Yes," he said, his eyes tearing up. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really. I don't know which one did that, but they're telling you hello."

They heard the door open. Nurse Owens was back. She probably saw all their clothes strewn everywhere.

"Mary?" She called.

"She's in here with me," Leonard said, getting up to put his pants back on. He smiled at Mary as they giggled quietly. She wrapped a sheet around herself, and tried to fix her hair.

"Fine, whatever," Nurse Owens said crossly. "Just don't be too loud and walk around indecent when I'm in here."

Mary and Leonard smiled at one another again as he went in search for his shirt. He found it and crawled across the bed to kiss her again. "I'll see you later. I'm just down the beach. We can go for a walk later."

Mary smiled, kissing him. They were only down the beach from each other now. The fact that they were so close to each other thrilled her, and she would see him again in just a few hours. Not in days or weeks.

Wait, she thought. What time was it?

She ran out into the living room, still wrapped up in the bed clothes and looked at her phone.

"What did I just say?" Nurse Owens said sternly. "Put on your clothes, Mary!"

She'd missed it.

She'd missed Kersh's speech.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _2:19pm_

"Are you watching it?" The SRP's voice came over the line when Gibson answered.

"No," he replied irritably. "I'm getting a tan."

She ignored his sarcasm. "The representatives from the Seminole-Creek are against him so far."

Gibson tried to think of how many of them were in her Council. A third or so? A weight lifted from his shoulders. They were Tribal Party, and all of Hosteen's Council was Tribal Party. They wouldn't accept Kersh either.

"Then that takes out the West," Gibson said. "The West won't accept."

"I know that," she said coldly. "It's between my Council and Burns' Council. East already accepts. West will decline. It's North and South now."

She was silent for a few seconds, then she whispered to him. "Okay, tell me the truth: did you know about this already? Did Alvarez tell you about him when you and her -"

"No!" Gibson replied angrily. "Stop bringing that up!"

"Well, she had to have known! Maybe she said something to you before?"

"No! Stop talking about it."

Jessinda had said a lot of things to him that night, but none of those things was about Alvin Kersh. He didn't want to think about that night. Jessinda probably didn't know anyway. It was the East Council that did this, not her.

"You'd tell me if she did, wouldn't you?"

"Yes! Can we change the subject, please?"

"Why are you getting so upset?" She asked him suspiciously.

"Because I don't want to talk about it. It's personal. It's private, okay? Now will you shut up about it?!"

"You never used to talk like this to me." She said it to him quietly, but he could sense there was more simmering beneath the surface of her tone; something distrustful.

He could remember a time when he had spoken to her this way before, but now he was on edge for very different reasons. And all those reasons had names: Mary, Byers, Scully, Kersh, and now Dominique. He'd called Lieutenant Skinner about Dominique, but Skinner had taken leave over the last few days. Gibson left several urgent messages with his assistant. Gibson didn't know if those messages had been forwarded or not.

There was a lot going on right now. Too much to think about. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just stress, and please don't talk about Alvarez anymore. I like to keep that private, okay?"

The SRP was quiet for a few seconds. "I understand." But it didn't sound like she actually did.

Gibson turned back to the television in his room. As soon as he'd arrived at the WRP's home, he'd ripped off his tie, posted two Guards outside the door, and sat down to watch.

People seemed bored with Kersh so far. When the cameras panned over the audience, people were looking at their phones or looking around the room in a daydream. Kersh was talking about all the things most candidates talked about: taxes, national security, and infrastructure. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that people were so bored?

"And all the moderates in my Council are going to accept him," the SRP grumbled. "It's the liberals and conservatives that need convincing."

Kersh was running as a moderate. It was a good strategy. Gibson also noticed how Kersh hadn't talked about all the Old Republicans or militia yet. Was that also some form of strategy? Those were important issues in the East, and he was avoiding them all together. But someone was bound to ask him during the Q&A session later. Maybe he was saving his ideas for that.

About mid-way into his speech, the lights cut out over the stage in the auditorium and a screen appeared behind Kersh.

"I'd like to talk to you all about another concern I have," Kersh said from the lectern. The expression he always wore hadn't changed a bit, but he spoke clearly and earnestly about everything. People wouldn't think he was cruel, but that he would take the job seriously.

The screen lit up behind him, showing an image of the Atlantic Ocean taken from the ISS. The ocean wasn't blue; it was black from all the sludge and pollution that had sank into its depths over the years. It looked like an enormous, black sea creature billowing out from the east coast of the NAU with long, wispy tentacles that branched out across the sea floor to the African Union, up towards the UK, and down to South America.

"That," he pointed at the image. "Is a problem." He paused staring fiercely out into the audience. "I don't _like_ problems."

The auditorium was completely silent.

"We are going to fix this," he said sternly. "In just a couple of years, the image you see right here will be gone."

Everyone was quiet. The people in the audience didn't seem bored anymore.

Gibson sat up in the edge of his chair. "What is he talking about?"

"Oh, God….," the SRP replied. "Oh, no."

Both Gibson and the SRP watched in horror as Kersh explained his plan to clean up the Atlantic. And it wasn't just a bunch of bullshit. He had consulted with oceanographers, physicists, chemists, and geologists to form an extensive plan to literally build and submerge a giant filter into the ocean.

He explained everything in great detail, some parts of it clearly dumbed down for the less-educated citizens, and showed diagrams and video clips of machinery at work. There was a model of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge where the continental plates diverged. He discussed chemical processes, plate tectonics, and even how hurricanes would be beneficial for this.

"Oh, no," the SRP said again. "God, no. Please, no."

Once he was finished with the science, Kersh began talking about the funding. He'd already secured contracts with countries in South America that had been affected and the African Union, too. Spain, Portugal, and France were also going to participate.

Gibson felt the weight collapse right back on him.

Kersh was going to clean up the Atlantic.

"Shit," Gibson said. "Oh, shit."

Kersh wouldn't lose now. The East Region and South Region no longer had livable coastlines. It was too toxic and polluted for anyone to survive there. If this worked, people would be able to live there again. South Guard would no longer need to go out there and clean up the beaches. This effort would take a considerable amount of time, but there were no holes it that Gibson could see.

Kersh was going to win.

This was too important, too big. He'd done a great deal of research and put a lot of work into this already. It wasn't like no one had ever thought of this before. There had been many ideas about how to clean the Atlantic Ocean since the transition. But every single one of them had fallen flat with lack of funding or poor research.

But this…this went above and beyond.

The applause that erupted after he was done said everything: he'd won them over. Once the South Councilmembers saw this, there was no way they would reject him now. This would help their Region, too. Even the Seminole-Creek might change their minds.

Gibson rubbed his hand over his head and through his hair. He was getting a giant headache now.

Kersh was going to win.

"He must have been planning this for a while," the SRP said.

Gibson had almost forgotten she was still on the phone with him. "Yeah. Sounds like it."

Both of them were silent, while Kersh left the stage, escorted outside by East Guard. He scowled as he walked out, no smiling, no waving. Kersh's eyes flicked towards one of the cameras facing him. Gibson felt like Kersh was looking right at him, right into his eyes.

He was going to win. And he knew it.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _7:17pm_

Mary stood on the beach, her feet in the tide, as she watched the last of the sun dip into the sea.

Nurse Owens had shooed her outside to wait for Leonard, taking her phone away from her. Mary had been close to a panic attack once she'd seen all the highlights from Kersh's speech. Mary had been looking at her phone all day, still naked from before, wrapped up in the bed sheet as she read comments, watched videos, and listened to all that applause.

God, it was horrifying.

She wanted to scream. He killed someone! He's a murderer!

What if he had other victims no one knew about? Gibson told her he was responsible for her grandfather being nearly executed. Who else? There had to be more.

Nurse Owens fussed at Mary to put her clothes back on, took her phone away, and told her she needed to calm down. Albert and Melissa needed their mother to be calm.

"You can't get like this," Nurse Owens said, taking Mary's shaking hands in hers. "I know how upsetting this is for you, but please calm down. Nothing is going to happen to you or them."

Mary wiped her eyes and nose and tried to take deep breaths. She wasn't in the East right now. She was here. She was far away from that. But her grandmother was there, and her mother, too. Kersh knew who they were. What would he do to them?

Cleaning up the Atlantic Ocean, with such a thought-out, thoroughly-researched plan – including International support – was going to guarantee he would be the next ERP. Maybe it was good she knew this now so she would be prepared when he was inaugurated.

And Nurse Owens was right: Mary had to calm down. This wasn't good for her or the twins.

Standing out on the beach waiting for Leonard was calming. At least if Kersh's idea worked, everyone on the opposite side of the country could enjoy their beaches again, albeit watching the sun rise rather than set.

Mary took more deep breaths of the air and tried to concentrate on the tide splashing over feet then pulling back again. She was here. And right here, right now, everything was okay. Mary tried to think about that: the present moment.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone walking down the beach towards her. Mary expected to see Leonard when she turned her head, but that wasn't him. The figure was still too far away to make out clearly in the last orange rays of the sun.

Mary turned towards them. As they got closer she could see it was someone in a green uniform. Mary squinted her eyes, trying to see the person clearer. Was that…? Was that Dominique?

"Dominique?" Mary called, walking towards her. "You're here! How did you get here? Are you okay now?" Mary felt bad that she'd forgotten about her. She must have been released, then cleared for travel.

But Mary stopped in her tracks as Dominique came closer. She was walking all…wrong. It was jerking and forced. Mary could see Dominique's injured arm hanging limp and useless at her side.

Mary took a step back. "Dominique?"

Dominique's hair was a scraggly mess, agitated further by the breeze. Mary had a sensation just then, a static-cling sensation, like someone was rubbing a balloon over her arms, legs, and head.

Mary took a few more steps back. "Are…are you okay? What's wrong?"

The hairs all over Mary's arms stood up as Dominique came closer. Oh, God. What's wrong with her? Dominique was taking great gasping breaths, almost as if she was forcing herself to breathe, like it wasn't automatic. The wheezing, gasping breaths got louder, then Dominique stopped a few feet in front of Mary. The disk in her throat was lit up, a pulsating light that made the veins in her neck glow.

The static sensation was making Mary feel nauseated and dizzy. "Dominique?"

Dominique looked down, like she was getting ready to say something, but she lifted her eyes to Mary's face.

They were glowing, a blue-white glow.

"What's wrong with you?" Mary cried.

Dominique didn't answer. She reached behind her and pulled out a gun. Mary automatically reached for her gun, but she didn't carry one anymore.

Still breathing in that gasping manner, Dominique's eyes went completely black.

"What are you doing?" Mary screamed. "Dominique! It's me, it's Mary!"

Mary thought she might have enough time to concentrate and pull the gun out of Dominique's hand or even break her arm so she would drop it.

But Dominique's movements were too quick; absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. She raised the gun and pointed it at Mary's stomach.

Mary instinctively wrapped her arms around herself and dove into the sand, hoping the bullet would hit one of her legs or her backside. But when Dominique fired, the bullet didn't hit Mary at all. Mary heard a grunt and the sound of one body slamming into another. The bullet sailed in the air and landed in the tide.

When Mary looked back, she saw someone on top of Dominique wrestling the gun out of her hand.

"What the hell is she doing?" He said. "She just tried to shoot you!"

It was Simon.


	26. Chapter 26

_The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _8:55pm_

Mary wouldn't remember every single detail.

She wouldn't remember exactly how or why Simon had been there right then. She wouldn't remember who dragged her back into the house and took Dominique off the beach. She wouldn't remember Nurse Owens running outside with her rifle, holding it the wrong way, like a baseball bat, ready to whack someone with it. She wouldn't remember exactly how long it took before an ambulance and a herd of West Guard showed up.

But Mary remembered her hands.

They were covering her face as she sat on the sofa inside the small beach house. She kept them there for a while. She pulled her hair around her to add another layer of darkness to hide in. She sat forward on the sofa with her hands over her face while stomping boots, shouts, and sirens drowned out the peaceful waves and ocean breeze.

Someone sat next to her at some point, trying to pry her hands away but she twisted away from them. One of the sergeants in the West Guard wanted Mary's statement. Mary heard someone, it sounded like Simon, tell him to leave her alone and come back later.

There were people talking about Dominique, about how she was handcuffed to the stretcher and kept screaming and begging for them not to take her back to the hospital. Mary felt someone wrap a blanket around her. She sensed someone kneeling in front of her, trying to talk to her, trying to get her to say something.

But Mary said nothing.

She stared into the shadow her hands cast over her eyes. She felt her eyelashes tickle her palms when she blinked. She didn't move. She didn't speak. She needed to just sit there and let everything happen around her. She needed to be still. Partly because she was afraid to move, and partly because there was no stillness anymore.

Then Mary starting hearing about what had happened to Leonard just minutes before.

Someone, presumably Dominique, had tried to strangle him. But when he fought them, they simply knocked him unconscious, dragged him into a closet, and locked him inside it. There was an argument about how Dominique couldn't have done that. Not by herself. Was there someone else helping her?

Mary knew she wouldn't be able to go see Leonard. How would she get in there? The place was on lockdown now, and how would it look for the WRP to admit a random pregnant woman into his room. What would people think?

 _Look._

 _Think._

Mary began to tremble with anger.

He couldn't just say Mary was his wife. He couldn't just say Mary was the mother of his children.

She was shaking so much that Simon sat down next to her and rubbed her arms, thinking she was crying or cold. "Mary? Mary, please say something," he prodded her.

No, she couldn't just go make sure her husband was okay, and he couldn't just walk down here to make sure his wife was okay. Such benefits were reserved for normal people. Such privileges were enjoyed by other husbands and wives, ordinary people, who were completely human, who didn't have to pretend anything or lie about anything.

People who didn't have to watch their best friend's eyes turn black as that best friend tried to shoot them. Eyes that used to wink at Mary when she snuck out of the dorms to see Simon. Eyes that looked at Mary's lipstick skills with disdain. Eyes that used to joke and laugh.

That wasn't Dominique. Whatever _that_ was, it was not her. Something else had a hold over her, something else was in her, and its aim was intentional. It wasn't Mary it had tried to kill…

Mary heard another familiar voice begin to blend in with all the others around her.

Gibson.

He was shouting orders at someone. Mary could hear people scrambling around as he ordered one person here and that person over there.

The anger she felt, the confusion, the blend of emotions, all of it was starting to make her feel dizzy.

She stood up suddenly and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it, about a dozen people calling after her. She let the blanket around her drop to the floor and splashed the coldest water she could get from the tap on her face. Mary looked at herself in the mirror.

She should be hysterical.

Mary stared at her face.

Why wasn't she crying? Why were there no tears?

She shook her head at herself in the reflection with dismay. "Selfish," she whispered to it. "You're selfish."

She'd gone through with this whole thing for very self-centered reasons. She just wanted to be with Leonard Hosteen and overcompensate for feeling so insignificant all her life. She nodded matter-of-factly at herself, at her apt psychoanalysis. This wasn't for the good of the future or anything like that. She barely thought about that at all. She was only thinking about Leonard and her having a family; like they were normal. Like they were actually going to get to walk hand-in-hand down the beach with their children running around alongside them. Like it was all going to be easy someday.

That day wasn't going to come, was it?

"Mary, sweetheart," Nurse Owens knocked softly on the bathroom door. "Are you alright? Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine." Mary didn't like the sound of her voice. It sounded mechanical and empty.

She sat down next to the bathtub and lay her head on the edge. She ran her hand down the smooth, rounded side. She started wondering how bathtubs were made. It was something she'd never thought about before. Someone had to make them. She'd seen bathtubs all her life and never thought once about how they were made.

Mary occupied her thoughts for a few minutes with the rounded edges, the slip-resistant surface at the bottom, the metal faucet; the buttons she could press to adjust the water temperature; the white, shiny tile set in neat squares all around it.

She pressed the buttons for the hot and cold water, and watched it fill the tub. She stood up and took off all of her clothes, making the water as hot as she could stand, and carefully sat down in it.

There was another knock.

"Mary?" That was Gibson. "Do you need anything?"

"No." She looked at the bulge of her stomach in the water. She felt one of the twins move. She wished she could tell which one it was.

"I'm out here if you need anything."

"Okay."

It made her feel a little better that Gibson was here. Was Simon still here? It seemed like there were less people talking out there right now. No more sirens or combat boots anywhere. She wasn't even sure what time it was.

Simon must have noticed her condition. How could he miss it? She'd been wearing a loose blouse, but it had still been obvious. What is he thinking now? He'd had to have concluded she'd met someone, and was probably confused as to why she was even here, out of uniform, and pregnant.

Mary lay in the water for a long time, until her fingers started to wrinkle and the water cooled to lukewarm. She could have stayed in there longer, all night even. When she was little, she used to think if she stayed in the water long enough, she'd turn into a mermaid. A red-headed mermaid like Ariel.

Mary got out, dried herself off, and wrapped the blanket around her. When she came out, she saw three or four figures standing at the end of the hall.

"Mary?" The shortest one said. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to - ?"

Mary went into her bedroom and shut the door. She got under the covers and listened to the waves crashing outside her window.

Somewhere at the bottom of those waves was a bullet. Maybe it sliced through a fish and killed it.

But no one would care about that.

* * *

Mary tried to sleep, but it was a fitful sleep, full of dreams about dead fishes with black eyes and mermaids drowning in bathtubs. When she opened her eyes to see the sun shining in her room, it felt like there was someone laying on the bed beside her. She could feel their weight.

She turned to see Simon there, on his side, his back facing her, laying on top of the covers. How long had he been there?

For a few seconds, she thought about turning him on his back and laying across him like she used to. For a few seconds, she had a longing for that time. For a few seconds, she wished she'd said yes soon enough, and this would be what all her mornings looked like: turning over in her bed to see Simon there.

She wasn't really all that surprised he'd stayed here all night. She had a feeling nothing would ever surprise her again. One of those disfigured rebels could walk out of her closet right then, and she would probably just wave at it.

She got up and walked down the hallway. Nurse Owens' bedroom door was shut. Mary wondered what time she'd gone to bed. When Mary walked into the living room, looking around for her phone, she saw Gibson laying across the couch. He was too tall for it, but he'd squished himself on there anyway. She was a little surprised he was still here. Didn't he have a schedule to keep? Mary wondered if there were media camped outside right now. She didn't want to look. They were most definitely at the WRP's home, or as close as they could get to it. Everyone all over the world must know by now President Hosteen had been attacked. The SRP probably knew, too.

Mary slouched as she stood there. The SRP was going to come to the West now. She wouldn't stay in the South after hearing about this, especially to make a statement about one of her own Guard being involved. Dominique was wearing her uniform. It was probably why no one had any concern about her being in the WRP's home to begin with.

Mary sat next to Gibson's feet and shook his leg.

"Hmm?" He stirred a little, then quickly sat up. "What? What happened?"

"Do you want some coffee?" Mary asked.

He squinted his eyes at the sunlight in the room. "What time is it?"

"I don't know."

He reached into his pocket for his phone and looked. "Shit."

"What?"

"It's almost nine, and I have like a hundred unread messages."

"The SRP?"

"Yeah," he sighed, laying back on the couch.

Mary nodded. Of course it was her. Having an embolism probably.

Mary went into the kitchen to make some coffee. She shouldn't be drinking it, but she was going to have some anyway.

Nurse Owens came into the kitchen and took Mary's arm. "Let me do that. Go sit down."

"I can still make coffee," Mary said to her sharply. "I'm not helpless." She hadn't meant to sound so snippy, but she didn't like being treated like she was fragile and couldn't do simple things. She was pregnant not paralyzed.

"I need to give you an exam in a minute," Nurse Owens said firmly. "I want to make sure everything is okay in there."

Mary gave her a shrug and a nod. Albert and Melissa were still kicking and moving around like they always did.

Mary brought out a mug for Nurse Owens and Gibson, poured herself a cup, then seated herself next to Gibson while he scrolled through his phone, shaking his head.

"She heard about it, didn't she?" Mary asked him quietly.

"Yeah," he answered. "But not about…not about you…and…Dominique…" his voice trailed off for a second. "I didn't tell her about that."

"But you will." Mary frowned.

"Not if you don't want me to."

She looked over at him and into his eyes, wondering if she'd see it there. Was he really just a person? Not any kind at all?

His face flushed as she stared at him, and he drew back a little bit. "What?"

"You didn't have to stay here," she said. "I know you're busy."

"Well," he shrugged. "Just…um," he shrugged again, his face getting redder. "Just wanted to make sure…you know..."

"We were worried about you," Nurse Owens interjected. "You didn't seem like yourself."

Mary glared at her. How was she supposed to seem like herself? After something like that? How could she ever be like "herself" ever again?

Mary noticed movement out on the patio. She looked through the glass doors to see Nathan Chee and a Cherokee woman out there, setting up scopes on their guns.

"There's two out front as well," Gibson said to her. "Plus the two South Guards that came with me. Hosteen's orders."

"I won't be able to go see him, will I?"

"No," he shook his head. "I might be able to get you in there in a day or so, but…it's on lockdown. They might not let me back in there. No one knows how he was able to be attacked like that. He's hardly ever alone long enough. It's a major security breech."

"But he's okay, right?"

"Yeah."

Mary set her coffee down, and opened the patio doors. Nathan and the Cherokee woman turned to look at her.

"Can I come outside?" Mary asked them.

They nodded. Mary sat down in one of the wicker chairs and watched them for a few minutes. They were both armed to the teeth, a Glock, knives, and stun-guns in their belts. The Cherokee woman was loading her AK with hollow point bullets. She had a tattoo of a vine that wound its way around one of her arms, disappeared under her sleeveless top, then circled around her neck before it wove its way down her other arm, stopping at her wrist. She had an eyebrow ring with a jewel in it that sparkled in the sunlight.

She looked Mary over, then held out one of her hands. "Linda."

Mary shook her hand. "Mary."

Nathan looked through his scope and adjusted the sight. "You can go out on the beach, but one of us has to be with you so the other one can keep an eye out here, okay?"

"Okay," Mary replied.

So. This was going to be her life now. Guarded night and day. She was never going to be alone anywhere again. Oddly, it made her feel the loneliest she'd ever felt in her life. Mary wondered what Nurse Owens was thinking about all these guns everywhere. Mary was surprised Nurse Owens wasn't out here right now shaking her finger at Nathan and Linda.

Mary looked over at Nathan. "You said you were the good kind? Does that mean there's a bad kind?"

Nathan continued to look through the scope of his gun. "Not all of them. And they're not really bad," he replied without looking over. "They're…"

"Misled," Linda joined in.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "That's a good word for it."

Mary looked into Linda's eyes. Mary didn't have to look too hard to see it there. She started to wonder how many people she'd met in her life with it in their eyes and she never noticed. "So, Leonard Hosteen and I are one half good and one half…misled?"

Linda smiled. She was finished loading her AK. "The only thing you need to be concerned about is that they will be the best kind. The best of all of us." She nodded at Mary's stomach. "We support it. We want this to happen. The other ones do not."

"The misled ones?" Mary asked.

Linda didn't answer. Linda might as well be her grandmother. Mary started to feel angry again. Why did it all have to be so cryptic? Why did everyone have to be so damned vague about everything?

"Can I go see him?" Mary asked. "Maybe not today, but tomorrow?"

Nathan stepped away from his gun and sat down next to her. "No. I don't know when, but he'll have to come here. Security over at the WRP's home is extremely high right now. No one in and no one out. West Guard chased all the media away this morning. But he's okay. He was up and walking around earlier. Just a bump on the head." Nathan smiled and looked behind him to the corner of the beach house. "He sent you a gift. Also another method of protection."

Nathan snapped his fingers and said something in Athabaskan. Mary gasped when she saw a puma walk around the side of the building. It had shiny tan-colored fur, bright yellow eyes, and enormous paws. It lay down at Mary's feet.

"Oh my," Mary said, slowly pulling her feet upon the chair, hoping she wouldn't get scratched.

"She won't hurt you." Linda said. "Will you, Sasha?"

Sasha flicked her ears and turned to look at Linda, who said something to the giant cat in Iroquoian. Sasha yawned, exposing teeth that could slice through someone's skull.

"She's tired," Linda said. "They sleep during the day and are up most of the night. I can teach you some words later. Sasha doesn't really understand English."

Mary stared down at the puma as the puma stared lazily up at her. A puma? Really? Mary felt like Nurse Owens was going to burst through the doors any minute, shouting about how there shouldn't be any pumas near a pregnant woman.

"Sasha is the WRP's favorite," Nathan said, rubbing Sasha's head. Sasha licked his hand. "He must really love you. He hardly goes anywhere without her."

Mary smiled, thinking about when she'd seen Leonard at the event. She wondered if the puma laying at his feet had been Sasha. She thought that day seemed like hundreds of years ago. So much has happened since then.

Mary stood up. "I'd like to go down to the beach, if that's okay. Just for a few minutes."

Linda and Nathan exchanged a look.

"Come on, then," Linda said, strapping her AK around her and removing her Glock to take the safety off.

Linda followed Mary down the steps and out into the sand. Mary sat down in the dry sand where the tide didn't reach. She looked up and down the beach. It was deserted. It didn't look like anything had happened here last night. Mary saw Linda standing behind her looking around, ready to gun someone down. This must not be a public beach, otherwise there would be people here, wouldn't there?

Mary turned around to Linda. "Is there a difference? Can you tell who is which kind?"

"Not really. Not unless it mutates." Linda answered, looking up and down the shoreline.

Mary stared at her for a few seconds. Why hadn't her grandmother told her about this? Something that mutates, extraterrestrial or not, seemed like something her grandmother would know about.

"Your friend," Linda said. "I heard you saw her eyes turn black? That's a mutation. We can't do that. So far, our kind has mostly stayed the same."

"But she wasn't like that before," Mary said. "She wasn't a kind at all before. She was a person, a human."

Linda looked down at Mary, her eyes filled with pity. "She's not a human anymore."

"But…how? How did…?" Mary hardly knew what to ask. Oh, dear God, what happened to Dominique? Something like that couldn't just happen? Could it? They were all born this way, right?

"I don't really know how they do it," Linda said. "They can just, sort of, take over someone. Anyone. A person. Me. _You_."

"But…I can't mutate or take over someone. I should be able to do that if I'm half of that kind."

"Have you ever tried?"

"No. I didn't know I could do anything like that."

"Then don't do it. Don't even try it. Use the good half of you."

Mary stared up at Linda, and Linda stared down at her. Mary felt like she understood, but there were more things to ask. More questions than answers.

Mary turned away to look out at the ocean. Why didn't her grandmother tell her about this? Mary was starting to wonder if her grandmother had just made up all the other stuff. Green, acidic blood? Shapeshifting? Mary felt like everything her grandmother said came out of an old comic book or movie. None of it fit with this. Mary's blood wasn't green. And neither of her parents had green blood.

Her parents…

If there was a good kind and a bad/misled kind, then which one were each of her parents? They had to be one of each, but which one? Mary had never seen them do anything that she couldn't do herself. Certainly never mutate or anything like that.

Mary turned back to Linda. "How do you know all of this?"

Linda smiled at her. "I've seen it. Quite a few times, actually. I'm ninety-three."

Mary looked at her youthful face, unwrinkled skin, and bright smile. She didn't look any older than thirty.

Mary turned back around again. She wondered how old Nathan was. A hundred? Two hundred? Mary wanted to know now. She'd been ignoring this part of it. Thinking only about a normal, happy life that would probably never come. She'd been pushing all those thoughts away, not wanting to deal with them, but she had to now.

Mary heard voices behind her, Linda's and a man's voice.

She didn't turn to look. She didn't really care who it was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon sit next to her.

Mary didn't have to look directly at him to know he was staring at her abdomen. She was still wearing the same blouse from yesterday; it didn't really hide much.

They were quiet for a time, watching the waves. A little hermit crab's legs poked out from a shell as it skittered along the sand. A sandpiper hopped along, sticking it's beak into the tide before flying off down the shore. Mary had never seen beaches like this; clean and alive with activity. There was always something to watch.

"You could have told me," Simon spoke up after a few minutes. "I mean," he gestured to her stomach, "obviously you met somebody."

Mary said nothing. She was watching the little hermit crab. It was illegal to have one as a pet in the North Region. Burns said it was cruel to take them away from the coast and put them in aquariums. He fined pet stores that tried to sell them and made sure anyone that had been to the West Region didn't try to sneak any into the North. Mary tried to remember if Eve and Esther had one a long time ago. She remembered thinking it was silly to have a crab as a pet up there in the cold. How could that poor little crab be happy away from its home?

"Is that why you're here?" Simon continued. "Does he live here?"

Mary glanced over at him. What was she supposed to say? The truth?

"I mean, I'm happy for you and everything," he said. His green eyes shimmered in the sunlight, but they were full of disappointment. "Just…wish you would have told me."

Mary remained silent. She watched two sandpipers fight over what looked like a piece of seaweed.

"So, were you discharged, or…? Was he?"

Mary watch the sandpipers continue their little tug of war, until one gave up and hopped off to find something else.

"Whoever he is, I think it's kind of messed up he'd leave you alone at a time like this. Is he in the Guard? Is that why he's not here?"

Mary watched a pelican swoop into the tide to scoop up a fish.

"Or did he just get you knocked up and leave you?" She saw his fists clench. "Is that what happened?"

Mary turned to look at him again, his face full of confusion and anger.

"Who is he? Did some son of a bitch get you pregnant and ditch you? Tell me who he is, I'll fu—"

"I want to go see your grandmother," Mary interrupted.

"Huh?" He drew his head back, looking more confused than ever. "My grandmother?"

"Yeah. I want to go see her."

"What? Like…right now?"

"Yes. Right now."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2049_

 _5:39pm_

Marcus Skinner stood in the elevator, holding up his hands as Emily screamed at him.

"It's me! It's just me!" He shouted.

Emily clutched at the front of her scrubs, gasping with relief. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I thought…," she tried to compose herself. "I thought there was someone down here following me."

He came out of the elevator and grabbed her hand. "Where? Show me."

She pointed down the hall, and he led the way down there, pulling out his gun.

They both looked around.

Empty. Nothing.

They went into the CIA room. They went into the NSA room.

Both were empty, too.

Finally, Marcus led Emily into the FBI room. There was no one among the displays. There was no one in the empty, dark chamber where dead agents were stored in the walls.

"There's no one here. It's okay." He said to her, putting his gun away.

She nodded, still looking around, expecting that awful feeling to come back. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come see my father first." He smiled at her. "But I guess you had the same idea."

She smiled warmly back. "It's so good to see you."

He took a step closer to her. "It's good to see you, too."

She wrapped her arms around him and he did the same to her. Emily was happy he'd decided to come up after all. Sometimes he couldn't get away from the South. He had too much responsibility. But he'd gotten away this time.

Marcus pulled away from her after a minute, his eyes softening out of that usual grouchy expression he wore. "Which kind this time?"

"Daisies."

He smiled tenderly as he looked into her eyes. "You're too good for this world." He kissed her, and they embraced again.

Emily still wasn't sure how this had happened. They'd known each other for a long time. For years, they'd exchanged messages, emails, and phone calls about Mary's progress at the academy. Mary was all they ever talked about. But then Mary graduated, and Emily didn't think she and Marcus would talk much anymore. He'd done what he was supposed to do. He'd fulfilled the promise he'd made to her, William, and their parents years ago.

Emily hadn't liked Marcus Skinner at all the first time she'd met him. He looked so gruff and hateful. He'd come to her parents' house before Mary's orientation, showing up in a green officer's uniform, glaring at all four of them from the doorway, until her mother invited him inside.

Her parents already knew him, but they still seemed nervous around him and very put off by his demeanor. William had taken a step back from him when Marcus shook his hand. Emily hadn't realized it back then, but it was the last time the four of them – her, William, and their parents – had been in the same room together.

Marcus sat down while it was all explained to him. Emily sat at the kitchen table, away from everyone. They'd roped her into this. She didn't want to send her daughter away to use guns and kill people. Why Mary? Why couldn't William send the triplets there? But William told her he couldn't afford that, and Emily secretly thought their bratty-ness would be their defense anyway.

Marcus Skinner looked bored and like he had better things to do while Emily's mother and William talked to him, telling him everything. They omitted nothing. Emily's father eventually left the living room and came to sit with her at the table. He gave her a reassuring nod that this was the right thing to do. He flashed William an angry look from across the room. When William met his eyes, he looked away. At least William was here. Emily thought he might not show up.

Nothing seemed to surprise or offend Marcus at all. That made William and their mother even more nervous and puzzled, too. Didn't he understand what they were telling him? Did he not get the part about Mary being the daughter of half-siblings? Did he not understand that Mary wasn't entirely human, and, in fact, none of them were entirely human either?

Marcus listened and said nothing for the longest time.

"I feel like you don't understand," Emily's mother said, glancing over at her father. "Mary has to learn these things. She won't be safe. Do you –"

"I get it," Marcus barked at them, making William and their mother sit back.

Marcus looked over at Emily and her father sitting at the table. Her father was grinning.

"It's like Skinner the Sequel," her father said, his grin getting bigger. He looked over at her mother. "I mean, look at him. Don't you think? It's incredible."

Her mother stared at him, silently telling him to be quiet, until he looked away from her. He looked at Emily. "You met his dad, remember?" He pointed at Marcus. "It's not just me, right?"

Emily's mother rubbed her head and sighed, then looked back at Marcus. "Can you make sure no one finds out? No one can find out about her…ancestry. Or what she is."

"Is there a blood test?" William asked Marcus. "I read where they get their blood type in case the cadets are injured."

"I can find a way around it," Marcus replied harshly.

Emily didn't like him. Is this what her daughter was going to turn into? Someone cold and hateful?

Emily got up from the table and went outside. She couldn't believe she'd let all of them talk her into this. Mary was _her_ daughter. Emily had raised her and kept her safe for all these years. Why did they want to take Mary away from her?

Emily stood outside for a while, dabbing at the tears in her eyes, when she heard the back door open. Marcus came out and stood next to her. Emily took a step away from him.

"You're Mary's mother?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes," Emily replied.

He turned to look at her, and waited for Emily to look back.

When she did, she saw the harshness in his eyes had relaxed a bit.

"Mary will be safe," he said curtly. "And no one, absolutely no one, will ever find out."

He gave Emily a nod, put on his hat, and marched back inside.

Emily had a hard time believing him. She continued to struggle with it after Mary enrolled, and Marcus called her to let her know how Mary was doing. But after a while, Emily felt better that he was looking out for her. Emily was still very uncomfortable with the idea of her sweet daughter handling firearms and shooting pedophiles, but at least she had a friend there; at least she had someone there to keep her out of harm's way.

After Mary graduated, Marcus still called Emily to ask how Mary was doing. It didn't take Emily long to figure out he was really calling to talk to her. He wanted to know about her. How was her job? Did she have a lot of patients? What was she doing this weekend? She found that she really liked talking to him. He was really a good man, and wasn't so hateful all the time. One day, he asked to meet her in the Center, go to the Memorial, and take her to dinner afterwards. That was when it started, she supposed, when she knew there was something else between them; something good, something that made her smile each night before she fell asleep.

What had formed between them was unexpected and undeniable now: it was love.

Because of his high rank in the Guard, he could hide romantic relationships easier than other Guard members. But in order to marry Emily, and subsequently become Mary's stepfather, he would have to resign. He was ready to do that for her. Unlike Madison, Marcus knew what he was marrying into. He knew what kind of family they were.

They sat in the FBI room, on the bench where Emily had just been sitting, as Marcus visited with his father.

They were silent for a while before he said something. "Have you thought about it some more?"

"Yes," Emily replied, taking a deep breath. "I think we should tell Mary first, then my mother.

"You want to wait that long?" He replied. "Mary won't be back for a while."

"It's just a few weeks."

"No. The SRP requested an extension of six _months_."

"Six months? Why?"

"Praise is going to be in the West for a while. Hawaii and some other classified stuff going on over there."

"Oh." Emily didn't want to wait six months to tell Mary, but she didn't want to break the news to her through a phone call either. "Then I guess we should tell my mother first."

He looked a little nervous.

Emily smiled at him. "Don't be worried. My mother likes you. She won't be upset. She'll be happy for us."

"Yeah," he replied, still looking nervous.

"We don't have to do it now. Next weekend, maybe?"

"That soon, huh?"

Emily laughed. "Why are you so worried?"

"Well, if I had a daughter, I wouldn't want some guy trying to marry her."

Emily laughed again. "Why not? And you're not _some guy_. My mother knows you. She knew your father and trusted him. Why on earth would she be unhappy about us?"

"I don't know. I was just thinking about if I was her. I wouldn't want a man anywhere near my daughter."

Emily shook her head. "Every woman that gets married is someone's daughter, and the world hasn't ended yet."

"Yeah? What if it was Mary?"

Emily stiffened. "Well…I wouldn't care as long as he's nice to her." She paused. "And Catholic." Emily stood up. "Ready to go?"

Marcus stayed seated. "You see? It's not easy to think about, is it?"

Emily rolled her eyes at him. "Well, I won't have to worry about that for a long time. As soon as Mary's contract is up and she meets someone, she'll tell me."

As they left, Emily tried not think about Mary with anyone. Marcus was right: it wasn't easy to think about. But Mary would be in the Guard for eight more years. She couldn't get married until then. And Emily really hoped Mary would meet a nice, Catholic man in the meantime.

Emily's religious convictions were very important to her. So important that Marcus started taking a confirmation class every Thursday at a church in the South. Emily hadn't asked him to do it, or said anything about it to him at all. He would just do things like that for her. It was one of the many things about him she'd grown to love.

As they walked hand-in-hand out of the Memorial, Emily thought of something else she wanted to talk about with him.

"So," Emily began. "Do you know the new Regional Secretary? Mr. Praise?"

"Gibson?" He said. "I know _of_ him. I've never really spoken with him, though. Why?"

"Is he a nice man?"

Marcus shrugged. "I guess. Seems nice enough. Why?"

"I was just wondering. He's been all over the news lately."

"That's because of the last guy."

Emily looked over at him.

"He never left the South. God, he was weird. He never left the Region or his home. I'd send Guard over there for his personal protection, at _his_ request because he swore up and down he was being watched, and he'd chase them away."

Emily remembered hearing about how the last South Regional Secretary was rather odd. And obese.

"You know," Marcus said. "Mary came to me a while ago wanting to transfer out of the South to the West."

"The West? Why?"

"She said she liked it there. I thought it was strange. She can't do it unless she has the SRP's approval, but Mary already had the transfer signed by President Hosteen."

"Did he request her or something?"

"I was wondering about that, too. I called the West Guard Lieutenant. She said she hadn't requested more Guard. She wasn't sure why Hosteen would have signed off on it."

Emily tried to think of why Mary would want to live in the West. It was so far away.

"Anyway, the SRP didn't sign off," Marcus continued. "So, Mary can't transfer. Does she know anyone over there?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I told her if she went there, I won't be able to help her with anything anymore. Just found it kind of odd. Like all the sudden."

Emily was at a loss. Why would Mary want to live there?

"But she's not going," Marcus said, "She'll be a South Guard for the foreseeable future." He looked over at her and cleared his throat. "So, um, is William going to be there?"

When Marcus was around, William would drink more than usual and kept mostly to himself. Emily could hear his thoughts; it upset him that she'd fallen in love with someone else. She could hear the battle in William's mind as he tried to accept what Emily was doing; as he tried to accept that things would change between them permanently.

"No," Emily replied with a smile. "You can stay the whole weekend if you want."

" _If_? As if I've got better things to do than be with you?"

Emily smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He kissed the top of her head and took his hand away to put his arm around her. The way he touched her still gave her butterflies.

Even though he was nervous, Emily was excited to tell her mother. She would be happy for them. And Mary would, too. Mary would have a real father; one that actually protected her and cared for her.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _10:06am_

Gibson watched Mary and Simon from the window.

Why did it have to be Simon?

Gibson had sworn to Scully he'd guard Mary with his life. He wasn't doing a very good job of it so far.

But Simon was.

Mary could have lost her babies and been critically injured in the process. He looked gloomily out at the beach below the house at Mary and Simon. At least Mary seemed to be ignoring him. She wasn't really talking to him. It was good Simon had been there; Gibson had to admit that had saved Mary's twins. But he was also suspicious; why had Simon been there right then? What was Simon doing around here anyway? He always seemed to be in places where he shouldn't.

When Gibson arrived last night and saw Simon here, he was determined to stay as long as Simon did. He couldn't really explain why, but something about the guy just rubbed him the wrong way. Gibson was fighting an impulse to go outside and get Mary away from him. Was it just envy that made him feel this way? Or was it really a bad feeling?

And Gibson was still trying to decide if she should tell the SRP what had happened to Mary. That wasn't public knowledge. Everyone was all up in arms about the handsome and heroic President Hosteen being attacked. He was so popular and well-liked; why would anyone want to hurt him?

Gibson knew the SRP would find out eventually. If not from him, someone would say something about it to her. If he didn't tell her, God knows how she'd react. He was worried that when Mary did go into labor, the SRP would be right there, ready to snatch Mary's twins right from her womb and run off with them.

But…he could understand her reasons now.

Gibson hadn't seen Dominique before the ambulance took her away, but he heard all about how she looked and how she pleaded with the EMTs not to take her to a hospital. It was those Anti-Colonizationists. It had to be. He could think of no other explanation. For a while, he'd thought these people were just that: people. But maybe they were something else.

Scully had to be here. That would be one way of ensuring the SRP didn't have the chance. He was hoping Kersh would have been enough to keep the SRP in the South until the election. Because the four Councils were going to move the election date. It wasn't official yet, but Kersh was so damn good with his speech and his promises to clean up the Atlantic, that the Councils were going to make sure voting day came sooner than usual.

Kersh had yet to give any interviews with the media, but he didn't really need to. He would probably get 55% without trying too hard. Gibson figured he might as well pretend that Kersh was already in office. Otherwise, he wasn't going to be able to handle everything else.

His phone beeped and he looked at the message.

 _What the hell is going on over there? Answer me!_

The SRP hadn't plainly said whether she was coming to the West or not, but he should just go ahead and pretend that was happening, too.

Nurse Owens came over to stand next to him. "Who is that young man?"

"Simon," Gibson replied flatly.

"He went into her room last night! I saw him come out this morning!"

Gibson saw him go in there last night, too. He didn't try to stop him. What was he going to say? That Mary was married to Hosteen and get the hell away from her? Simon didn't know and it wasn't like Mary wore a ring. And Gibson could hear that Simon thought he had a right to do that. Because they used to do that; they used to sleep together.

Gibson tried to shake the thought of them together out of his head. It seemed to add another layer of distance between himself and Mary. Just another barrier, another reason why his feelings were pointless. Because if it wasn't Hosteen, it would be Simon. Mary had really loved him.

He saw them stand up and walk across the beach towards the steps, Linda walking beside them, keeping her eyes on the shoreline. They looked like they were arguing about something now. Simon was gesturing around wildly. They stopped and turned towards each other, Mary pointing her finger at him. Gibson couldn't really hear their thoughts, but it was obviously an ex-lovers' quarrel. Mary looked disgusted at something Simon said to her, and she turned away from him abruptly and continued towards the steps. Simon walked behind her, his body language apologetic, like he was pleading with her.

Mary stopped and placed her hands on her belly. Whatever Simon was saying to her, Gibson could tell Mary was listening and considering something. Gibson strained to hear them, but they were too far away. Finally, as they made their way up the steps and walked across the patio, their thoughts exploded in Gibson's head like a blast from a bullhorn.

They'd been talking about going somewhere and Simon had tried to explain to Mary why he'd dropped off the face of the earth. Mary was livid as she opened the patio doors and stormed inside.

"I can look her up in the registry! I don't need you with me anyway!" Mary shouted.

"Will you just tell me who he is?!" Simon snapped. "Why is it such a big secret?"

"I don't owe you a single explanation about anything! Why don't you go back to saying and doing what you do best? Nothing!"

"Do I know him?" Simon asked. "Is that why you won't tell me?"

Gibson and Nurse Owens had stepped back from them when they came inside. Both Mary and Simon seemed completely unaware that they had an audience.

Gibson could hear Mary thinking about Hosteen and that she might actually say it out loud.

"It's none of your business," Mary shrieked. "Just go away! I'm grateful you were here last night, but just go!"

Simon looked at her, shaking his head, a deep sadness spreading over his face. "I don't want to fight with you, Mary. Listen…I can take care of you and your baby, too. I don't care that it's not mine. Will you let me do that? It doesn't have to be anything, we don't have to be like anything. I just…I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help with anything! Leave!"

Nurse Owens went over to her and grabbed her arm. "Okay, Mary, I need to give you an exam. Let's go in here."

Mary looked at her and at Gibson like they'd just appeared out of nowhere.

"I'll leave," Simon replied. "But I want to go with you to see her first."

Mary said nothing and let Nurse Owens take her down the hall. When the door to Nurse Owen's room shut, Simon looked over at Gibson.

Gibson just stood there, not really sure what to do or say. He really shouldn't let them go anywhere together, but he was sure Nathan and Linda would be tagging along. Mary couldn't be alone anywhere ever again. Especially not with Simon Doggett.

The two of them stood there in awkward silence for a few minutes. Gibson pretended to be interested in something outside of the window.

"Do you know who he is?" Simon asked him.

Gibson shrugged and shook his head.

"Why are you here anyway?" Simon asked, a look of suspicion and anger making his eyes narrow. He came over to Gibson and stood way too close to him. "Is it you?" Simon's voice was quiet and accusing.

Gibson looked right back at him. He could say yes. He almost wanted to. Instead, he glared right back into Simon's eyes. "No. I'm the South Regional Secretary and one of my Guard was almost shot by another one of my Guard. I came here to find out what happened."

"Oh yeah," Simon's expression changed to one of recognition. "I heard about you. You're that kid in all the chess videos, too, aren't you?"

Gibson didn't have a chance to reply. Mary came out of Nurse Owens' room, looking relieved. The twins must be okay. She grabbed her phone off the counter and looked at Simon.

"Are you coming or not?" She asked him.

"Yeah," Simon nodded to her, then turned back to Gibson. "Nice to see you again. Sir." He said the last part with just a touch of sarcasm.

Mary walked out the door, Simon following along behind her. A second later, Gibson watched Nathan, Linda, and a puma walk in from the patio and follow them out the front door.

He did a double take at the puma.

"Oh!" Nurse Owens exclaimed as she watched the big cat stroll across the house with her hands over her cheeks. "What is that?"

A puma? What was that doing here?

Nurse Owens came over to him. "I can understand the guns at this point, but there can't be any wild animals around her!"

"I think it might be a gift," Gibson said.

His phone beeped insistently as a call came in. He looked to see that it was the SRP. He really didn't want to answer, but he did anyway. "Calm down and quit sending me messages. Hosteen is fine!"

"What the hell happened?" She exclaimed. "They're saying it was a South Guard that did it!"

"Yeah, um…it was Dominique."

"Who?"

He balked at her response. "Really? _Dominique_. Mary's friend."

"Which friend?"

"The one that was shot on the train? The one that helped us when Hosteen was in the South. The one-"

"Okay! I know who she is now."

"How in the hell do you not know her name?"

"I can't remember everything! Why would she do that?"

"Well," he sat down on the couch. "She wasn't exactly herself."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't really know for sure."

"I thought she was still in the hospital? Didn't we leave her in the East?"

Hospital.

Something clicked in his head just then.

"Gibson?"

Dominique had been screaming about not going back to the hospital. He felt his heart begin to pound with adrenaline.

"Gibson? Are you still there?"

"I have to go," he said. He looked around for his shoes and jacket.

"What? What's happening? Will you-"

He hung up on her and ran out the door. He pointed to one of the South Guards that were out in front of the house. They stood up when they saw him.

"You stay here," Gibson ordered and pointed at the other one. "You come with me!"

She got into the car he'd arrived in last night, and Gibson made a call as they drove away. This one to As He Stands.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _2049_

 _West Region_

 _11:17am_

Simon complained the whole way.

He didn't understand why Linda and Nathan had to come, too.

"I'm armed," Simon said to them, glancing at them in the rearview mirror of the truck. "Do you guys really need to come along? I won't let anybody attack her."

Nathan and Linda sat in the back seat with Sasha sitting between them. They just looked at him and didn't answer him. Mary thought they all would have known each other since they were all in the West Guard, but Simon didn't seem to know them very well.

"And the cat?" Simon gestured behind him. "What's with the cat?"

Sasha looked down her nose at Simon before laying across Nathan's and Linda's laps in the backseat.

Simon and Mary sat up front as he drove them down empty highways with a sunbaked landscape as far as the eye could see. Mary looked out the window and tried to remember all the things she was going to talk to his grandmother about, with one new addition – Kersh. If she worked with her grandparents, then she probably knew Alvin Kersh, too.

Mary hadn't planned to meet up with Simon again this way, but this is how it had happened and now she was going through with the rest of her idea. It was more important than ever now. She had to stop thinking like she was in a fairytale. That wasn't real. Being attacked by your best friend, or whatever she was now, was real.

Simon told her his family's house wasn't that far away, but it would have been faster by train. Nathan and Linda told Mary she wasn't going to be riding on any trains for a while. Too many people around. And they weren't going to be able to take Sasha on a train.

Simon was still grumbling about Sasha and told Nathan and Linda they couldn't let the puma in his parents' house. "And if you're going to have all those guns with you, stay outside. My grandmother doesn't like guns in the house."

Mary tried to ignore him.

She'd checked her phone a few times to see if Leonard sent her anything, but security might have taken his phone away from him. She knew Presidential Guards followed very strict protocols whenever the Presidents were threatened. They most likely had him in a safe room until they figured out if Dominique had been alone or not. All the South Guards that had come with Gibson were probably being interrogated, too.

Mary glanced over at Simon and felt guilty. She couldn't tell him the truth, and he was taking her to see his grandmother anyway. But when she thought about their argument earlier, she felt a lot less guilty. She couldn't believe his reason for ignoring her for four years was that he was mad that she didn't answer him right away. She told him she was going to tell him yes, but he'd left already. Then he wanted to know why she didn't just say so when he asked her.

What could she say to that now? She'd been afraid of having children with him, and here she was having children with Leonard Hosteen. She had a feeling that argument wasn't really over. They were going to have another one if they stayed around each other long enough.

After seemingly endless miles of deserted roads, Simon drove them into a shabby-looking neighborhood, and then pulled into a driveway. As they all got out of the truck, Linda took Sasha over to an ugly, dried up lot beside the house. Mary guessed Sasha had to pee. Sasha was very well-behaved, though. She didn't need to be on a leash.

Nathan began walking up the road.

"Where are you going?" Mary asked him.

"To make sure we weren't followed," he replied.

"Who in the hell would follow us?" Simon asked incredulously. He looked at Mary. "What are they doing here? I'm in the West Guard, too. Why do they have to be here?"

Mary didn't say anything and began walking to the front door.

"No, this way," Simon called to her, gesturing the back of the house. "My grandmother stays in the basement."

"The basement?" Mary felt like that wasn't where anyone's grandmother should be.

Simon knocked on the basement door. After a few seconds, it opened and there she was. Mary could hardly believe she looked the same. She should probably stop expecting people to actually look old. That didn't seem to be possible with anyone she knew anymore.

"Simon," his grandmother said brightly. "What are you doing home?"

He jerked his thumb back at Mary. "Someone wanted to see you."

"Hi," Mary said, stepping forward. "Do you remember me? I'm Mary. Mary Scully."

"Of course, I remember you!" She smiled warmly at Mary and invited them inside.

Mary looked around. There was no furniture. Just cushions and oddly-patterned pillows all over the floor. There were strange-looking plants everywhere and a solar-powered fountain in one corner. A collection of Tibetan prayer flags hung from the ceiling.

This woman and her grandmother were best friends? They seemed so different.

"It's so good to see you, Mary! It's been a long time," Simon's grandmother said to her. "You're so grown up and look how tall you are. I always thought you'd take after your grandfather."

Simon stood to the side with his hands shoved in his pockets while his grandmother smiled at Mary. Mary could see a little bit of a resemblance between them.

"I didn't know if you'd remember me," Mary replied. "Is it…Mrs. Doggett or Mrs. Reyes?"

"Monica," she replied, helping Mary take off her cardigan. Mary didn't really need it. It wasn't really cold here, but Mary thought she could cover herself up better.

"Oh," Monica said when she noticed Mary's stomach.

Mary wished she had bigger clothes to hide in. She couldn't button up her jeans anymore, so she left them unbuttoned and just kind of rolled down the top. She would really need some new clothes soon.

Monica looked at Mary, then back at Simon, then back at Mary again, then back at Simon again.

"Take it easy," he said grumpily. "It's not what you think."

"Oh, I see," Monica said. "Well, congratulations. Dana never told me."

"Well, I didn't…I didn't really tell her…" Mary let her voice trail off. Her grandmother knew, though.

No one said anything for a minute.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," Mary spoke up, breaking the silence.

Monica waited, but Mary didn't want Simon here. Mary looked over at him.

"What?" He said.

"Uh, Simon," Monica turned to him. "Can you go upstairs for a little while?"

"Sure," he threw up his hands. "Why not?"

He stomped angrily up the steps and shut the door behind him. Mary heard his footsteps fade to the other side of the house.

"Have a seat," Monica said to her.

Mary looked around. On the floor? Mary sat down on one of the cushions and Simon's grandmother sat across from her. Mary saw an eMorley on a table behind her. She never quit. Even after having all those tumors.

"Is everything okay?" Monica asked, looking concerned.

"Um…well…," Now that Mary was here, she wasn't sure where to start. Was this the right thing to do? Should she really be involving this woman?

"Why haven't you told your grandmother?" Monica asked. "Does your mother know?"

Mary said nothing, but her silence said everything.

"I see," Monica nodded, then looked at Mary's stomach. "How far along are you?"

Mary had to think about that. She was into the nineteenth week, but Nurse Owens told her the twins were just as developed as babies were at week twenty-six.

"Second trimester," Mary replied, hoping that was vague enough.

Monica studied her middle for a second, then she smiled. "Twins?"

"Yeah," Mary replied. "How can you tell?"

Monica scooted closer to her and held out her hands. "May I?"

Mary nodded, and Monica put her hands on Mary's stomach, moving them around slowly.

"I had seven children," she explained. "And two sets of twins." She felt around some more, her smile getting wider. "A boy and a girl, right?"

Mary nodded again, astounded. How could she tell?

"Let's see," Monica said. "The boy is over here." She put her hand over Mary's upper left side. "And the girl is…right here." She put her other hand on Mary's lower right side.

Mary smiled. "Really? How can you tell that?"

"They have a lot of energy already," she replied. "Feels like longer than nineteen weeks. You might go into labor early."

Mary didn't want to think about that yet. She couldn't go into labor until she had everything ready for them.

Monica looked at her for a long moment. "This didn't…you weren't taken to lab or anything were you?"

"No," Mary said, surprised. A lab? "It happened the…the usual way."

Monica nodded, looking relieved. Why would Mary go to a lab? Did she mean like a sperm bank or something?

After a minute, Mary gathered up her courage and told Monica what she'd been planning to. Monica nodded as she listened, studying Mary's face as Mary talked. Mary hoped her face wasn't getting red, but she could feel her cheeks getting warm. She left out some things, especially the name of the father. Mary just said he was like her in that he was both kinds, too. She didn't think anyone would really believe she was married to Leonard Hosteen.

Monica was quiet for a time after Mary finished. She stood up and walked over to a mini-fridge in the corner. She took out a bottle of water for her and one for Mary.

As Mary took a sip, she realized just how thirsty she was. And hungry, too. She hadn't eaten yet today.

"I think you should really tell your mother," Monica said finally. "It'll hurt her feelings if she doesn't know she's going to have grandchildren."

"I will, but…," Mary bit her lip. "Do you think you'll be able to do it?"

Monica sighed. "I don't really feel right about doing something without your mother or grandmother knowing about it."

"I'm going to tell them. I can't right now, but I will." Mary leaned forward. "I'm going to do everything I can to stay here, but if I can't, I need somewhere for them to go. My grandmother has Intelligence at her house all the time. I don't want her to have any more trouble in her life than she already does."

Monica sighed again. She reached for her eMorley and was getting ready to take a drag, then stopped herself. "Sorry," she quickly put it back. She looked thoughtful again, looking around the room.

Mary was starting to get worried. If Monica didn't help her, then Mary didn't really have anyone else to turn to. Maybe Leonard's aunts, but how would they take care of babies? They couldn't hear or talk.

"Okay," Monica said finally. "I need some time to think about it, but meanwhile you should really consider talking to your mother about this. I'd be upset if one of my children didn't tell me I had grandchildren."

Mary could understand that, but her mother and father were not like other parents. Plus, with them living together, how would her mother keep this a secret? They communicated in their heads with each other all the time.

Monica gave Mary some pregnancy advice, and Mary intended on following it. After seven children, this woman would know how to alleviate swollen ankles and stretch marks.

Mary was getting ready to go look for Simon so they could head back when she remembered what else she wanted to say.

"I have another question to ask you before I leave," Mary said.

"What?" Monica asked.

"Did you know Alvin Kersh?"


	27. Chapter 27

_The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2044_

 _9:42am_

Mary turned over in the bed to see Simon there. He was laying on his side, his head propped up by his elbow.

"How long have you been awake?" Mary asked him sleepily.

"Not long," he moved closer to her. "I couldn't really sleep with all your snoring."

"I don't snore!" Mary protested, turning away. But then she turned around to face him again, feeling worried. "Do I really?"

"No," he laughed, laying his head down on the pillow. "You sleep like an angel."

Mary moved over to him and lay across him, feeling his chin rest on her head. "I highly doubt that. My mother said I used to sleepwalk when I was little. She'd find me in closets or under the dining room table some mornings."

"Yeah. Come to think of it, last night you walked all the way downstairs, went outside, and stood in the backyard, completely naked."

"I didn't do that!"

"Really? I have proof." He took his phone off the nightstand. "I took a picture of you."

"What? Let me see." Mary grabbed at his phone, but he pulled it away from her.

"I already sent it to everyone we know." His eyes sparkled with laughter.

Mary knew he wasn't serious, but she played along anyway. "Let me see, Simon!"

"Nope!" He sat up and got out of the bed.

Mary gave up the fight and looked up at him, blushing for a reason she wasn't sure of.

He tapped open his phone and showed her the picture he'd taken. It was of the backyard, but Mary wasn't in it. It was a nice shot of the moon glowing through the trees.

They'd been staying at his cousin Laura's house for the past week. She'd been under the impression it would only be Simon here, housesitting while she was traveling around the NAU for some kind of business she was starting. He'd mentioned Mary staying here, too, at the last minute. Laura swore at him for his deception, then demanded he send her a picture everyday showing that her plants had been watered and the lawn was mowed. Simon hadn't sent her anything all week.

Mary had lied to her mother and Simon had lied to his parents. It wasn't a total lie, however. They'd really been asked to stay behind after the term was over and help with the new cadets moving in and beginning their orientation, but it was only for a couple of days. They'd spent the rest of the week in his cousin's house.

Simon got back into bed. "What do you want to do today?"

Mary pretended to give his question some thought. "Nothing."

"Nothing at all?" He asked as he positioned himself over top of her, kissing her neck.

"That's right. Nothing."

It had been nice and liberating to be alone like this. No regimented schedule that woke them up at four in the morning and put them to bed at nine in the evening. No separation of males and females. No running endless miles. And no adults. No parents. No one to watch them and make sure they were behaving themselves.

Because they were not behaving themselves at all.

They hadn't really known how to handle so much freedom at first. It felt like a sergeant was going to burst through the doors any minute and tell them to wake up, or go to the cafeteria, or get ready for another drill. But they didn't have to do a damn thing, except sleep as late as they wanted, raid Laura's cabinets and fridge for whatever junk food they could find, leave the TV on all night, and drink all of Laura's wine.

And make love.

They could do that, too.

Mary thought it might make them uncomfortable around each other. Seeing each other naked and doing…things. Mary thought, for some reason, Simon would lose interest in her. She'd heard about that happening: that once a boy got what he wanted he would take off. But Simon wasn't taking off anywhere. He wasn't losing any interest in her at all. She began to feel silly for worrying.

But it was nearing the end of the week now and they were going to have to go home. Mary hated the thought of it, and refused to think about it until she had to.

She sat up in the bed, modestly wrapping the sheet around her, even though there was no point. "You should really mow your cousin's lawn. She's going to be mad."

Mary looked out the window to see the tall grass waving in the breeze. It had grown quickly from all the rain a few days ago.

He was scrolling through his phone. "Whatever. It's not like she's paying me."

"Yeah. Because _I'm_ here, too. You should have just told her the truth."

He looked over at her with a half-smile. She loved that half-smile. "Why should I be truthful? You weren't with your mom."

"She doesn't live here and isn't expecting someone to take care of her property while she's away. It's different."

"Laura probably called my dad as soon as she left," Simon shrugged. "I'm not going to mow her lawn or water her ugly plants for that."

"Has he called you?"

"No."

"Then how do you know she told him?"

"Because that's what she does: runs her damn mouth all over the place. And knowing _my_ dad, he'll wait until I get home before he says anything. You know, try to catch me off guard." He rolled his eyes. "He can do whatever he wants, but as soon as we graduate next year, I'm out of there."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know yet." He looked over at her, searching her face for so long she thought he was going to lean in for another kiss. "I have a couple of things in mind."

Mary turned away from him quickly. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet either. Probably join the Guard."

"Really? Why?"

"Might as well. It's what we're trained for."

He looked disappointed. "Well, what if something else came up?"

Mary picked at a loose thread in the sheets. "Like what?"

"I don't know like…college, or just taking a year off or…what if your mom got sick or something?"

"My mom doesn't get sick." Mary pulled at the thread. She didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Maybe travel places? I've never been outside of the Union."

"Me either." Mary twisted the thread around her finger, trying to break it.

"Maybe, um, maybe we could do that." His voice was cautious and soft, pulling her closer to him. "Maybe we could travel together."

Mary pulled the thread free, breaking it, and wove it around her fingers. "I think…I, um…I think that…"

She was interrupted by Simon's phone, chiming loudly, the screen lighting up.

He picked it up and swore.

"Who is it?" Mary asked.

"My dad," he pointed to the screen. "What did I tell you? Laura's big mouth right here."

Simon waited for a few seconds before he finally answered, putting on his best innocent-voice. He put a finger over his lips to tell Mary to be quiet while he walked out of the room.

Mary sat there for a minute, occupied with the piece of thread. What was she doing? Talk of the future was going to come up eventually, but Mary didn't want to talk about that. She especially didn't want to talk about it now. She really just wanted things to stay like this; like if they could stay in the academy forever and never have to talk about or meet each other's families. That would really change things, and the longer they were together, the bigger the chance he was going to find out about her family.

She could hear him down the hall. She couldn't tell if he was in trouble or not.

This had been a big risk, and she didn't even think twice about it. It was because she loved him, and he loved her. But why couldn't things just stay like this? Why couldn't they just stay in the South and never talk about their families? She wasn't apprehensive about meeting his parents at all, but if he did meet her mother….what if her mother said something? Just by accident?

Mary got out of bed and got dressed. They were leaving tomorrow evening, and Mary didn't want to spend this precious time with him worrying. She'll worry about it later.

Simon came back into the room, holding his phone, looking sullen.

"Did Laura tell him?" Mary asked.

"She told him I've been housesitting for her. But I could tell from how he sounded that she ran her mouth to him." He lay back down in the bed. "Told you. She's always been like that."

"Is he going to ground you or something?"

Simon shook his head. "Worse. He'll want to _talk_ ," Simon made finger quotes, "about my choices and lying. That's worse than being grounded." He looked over at her. "Why'd you put your clothes on?"

Mary shrugged. "I was going to go downstairs and find something to eat."

"There's nobody here," he said to her with a smile. "Just go downstairs naked. Who's gonna see?"

Mary blushed. "Her neighbors might."

Simon patted the space beside him. "Come back."

Mary stood there in mock stubbornness until he gently pulled her down beside him. She let him remove her clothes and kiss her until she was right back underneath him again, until she forgot about everything else and everyone else, but him.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2049_

 _11:15pm_

Esther was shrieking like a banshee coming up from Hell in the terminal as her supervisor and the pilots tried to get something coherent out of her. They'd taken her to the lounge where the flight crew rested in between launches. It was set up like a living room in a house, but Esther felt like she was in an interrogation room in a police station.

Her hysteria on the plane was upsetting some of the passengers and other flight attendants, so her supervisor made her stay strapped in her seat until they landed.

She swore up and down, on her mother's life, on all that was holy, that she'd seen that floating man. Esther described how his eyes turned black and how he was just hovering down the aisle right in front of her.

"Are you high?" Her supervisor asked sternly.

"No!" Esther shrieked. "I'm telling you! Get back on the plane! We have to search it! I don't know what he was, but some weird, floating guy is unsafe! We have to find him!"

They all looked at her like she was insane.

"Esther," one of the pilots said. "No one else saw him. You're the only one that saw him. You said he was standing in the middle of an aisle? One of the passengers would have seen him, too."

"We were launching! And he wasn't in the middle of it! He was at the end!"

The pilot looked at Esther with irritation. "You're actually telling me a passenger wouldn't notice some man floating around next to them?"

"I don't know!" Esther shouted. "But he was there!"

Esther's supervisor sat down next to her, the tone of her voice sickeningly soft. "Have you been having any trouble with headaches? Seen things or heard things that you couldn't explain? Trouble sleeping or getting to sleep?"

Esther was irate. She knew what her supervisor was getting at. Flight crew could suffer a certain kind of disorder from experiencing frequent high altitude flights. It didn't affect everyone, but Esther had learned about the symptoms in her training.

"No," Esther retorted. "I don't have altitude sickness! There is nothing wrong with me! I know what I saw!"

"Fine," the pilot said resignedly and turned to her supervisor. "Call in some Guard to search the plane. We don't need any liability problems."

Esther's supervisor affirmed and left the lounge.

Esther looked resolutely at the pilots. "You can't make this shit up! I'm not crazy or lying. I saw some freak with black eyes floating around in the damn plane!"

"You should probably get some rest," one of the pilots said. "Maybe skip a few flights for the time being."

Esther got up and stormed out of the lounge, fuming. She found her luggage and went outside to wait for a taxi.

She needed to tell someone else, and Mary was in the South Region, wasn't she? But then Esther remembered she was traveling around with Gibson Praise.

Esther tried to think. Who was closest after Mary? The train ride to her grandmother's house wouldn't take that long, but it was late and by the time Esther got there, she'd be in bed. Who else was there? Esther's father was in the East Region living with Mary's mother, Emily. Technically, Emily was Esther's aunt, but Esther had never thought of her that way. Just like she had a hard time thinking about Mary being her half-sibling and cousin all at once.

Esther still didn't really understand the situation. Her grandmother hadn't actually given birth to Emily, and Emily didn't have a father in the proper sense. So, what was she exactly? Where did she come from? Esther had never really gotten the chance to be around Emily except for a couple of occasions.

Esther remembered Emily bringing Mary over and her own mother flying into a rage when she saw them. Esther had been ashamed of her mother's behavior, but her siblings went right along with it. Something about it felt wrong. Esther felt like it was cruel. What was so wrong with Emily and Mary? What did they do that was so terrible?

Esther looked for Emily's address in her phone, but she wasn't sure if it was the right one. Emily moved around a lot.

Esther debated for a few seconds, then left the terminal and walked towards the train station. Emily would probably know what that guy was. Mary used to see things, too. Esther didn't really know if Mary saw floating men with black eyes, but Emily had believed Mary. Maybe Emily would believe her, too.

Esther boarded the train, set her luggage on the seat beside her, and looked around anxiously, afraid that man would be in the train car with her. Her father had told her and her siblings that they needed to get their gun permits time and time again. Esther hadn't listened to him, and right now she was wishing that she had.

Esther tried to call Mary again, but, as usual, it went straight to voicemail. Esther began to worry. What if that floating man appeared to Mary, too? Mary was different from her. She could do all the things Esther could, but it didn't weaken her at all. Esther was sure there was more that Mary could do, but she'd never seen it herself.

The train ride took an hour, but Esther felt like it took eight. When she got off the train, she looked for Emily's address again. It was about one kilometer away. Esther was about ninety percent sure it was right. Her father lived there, too.

She was suddenly fully aware of how dangerous and idiotic this was: walking alone this late at night after what she'd seen. Esther didn't know what that man was, but what if he somehow followed her? That awful feeling she'd felt, like static-cling, hadn't come back, though. What in the hell was he?

She quickened her pace, frustrated with the noise her suitcase was making on the concrete sidewalk as she dragged it along. It might as well be a blinking arrow pointing right at her.

Maybe if Emily wasn't there, her father would be. One of them had to believe her.

Esther watched the traffic signals and road markings morph into late-night mode as she walked. That made her quicken her pace considerably. She should really apply for her firearm license as soon as possible and never make any more rash decisions to walk alone at night.

Esther found the neighborhood, but when she approached the house, she noticed neither of the two cars parked in the driveway were her father's. She was even more confused as she got closer and saw two entrances. They lived in a duplex?

There was a light on by a door on the side porch. Esther rapped on it loudly and waited. One of the cars had South Region tags. Was Mary here visiting?

There was no answer, so Esther knocked again. She saw a light come on through the window and heard someone approaching the door. Emily opened it, wearing a robe, and looked at Esther with shock.

"What are you - ?" Emily started to say.

Esther didn't let her finish. "Help me!"

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _3:47pm_

Mary was tired and her feet hurt.

She plopped down on a bench, as Nurse Owens was turning to go into another store.

"What's wrong?" Nurse Owens asked.

"Can I just sit here for a minute?" Mary answered, wishing it wouldn't be too weird to take her shoes off and rub her feet out here in public. There were hundreds of people milling around on the walking mall, going into stores and markets. Every store had a wreath or Christmas tree, real or holographic, and ads that projected onto the sidewalk announcing sales and discounts.

Mary and Nurse Owens had been here for hours. Mary needed to get things for her twins and make sure she had something for everyone on her Christmas list. There only used to be four – her mother, grandmother, Esther, and Dominique – but that had changed now. She'd gotten something for everyone she felt she needed to, ordered Albert and Melissa cribs, and bought them some baby clothes. That part had been the most exciting few minutes of her day.

Mary didn't want to get them pink and blue things. Instead, she'd decided on yellow and green. She bought them matching blankets with cartoon animals all over them. She bought a baby monitor and pacifiers. She also got herself some new clothes, and winced when she saw the size she had to buy now. There was still a lot to get for the twins, and for herself, but she had to stop for today. She was worn out now and running low on money. Buying for two babies was expensive.

"Of course you can," Nurse Owens replied. "I'm going to go in here for a little bit. Want me to get you anything?"

Mary shook her head and pulled out her phone to see if Leonard had sent her a message. She had a couple of missed calls from Esther. Mary felt bad for ignoring her, but she didn't really want to talk to her right now.

How long were they going to keep Leonard on lockdown? It had been a whole two days now. Actually, going on three. Gibson wasn't allowed back in yet, and all his things were there. He was staying at the Presidential Hotel in the meantime. She felt like she was texting him every ten minutes, asking if he was cleared to go back. If she was bothering him, he didn't seem annoyed. A little preoccupied, maybe. It was taking him hours to respond. She hadn't seen him in a while. He was gone when she came back to the house with Simon.

Linda and Nathan were following her around, but because they were in such a big crowd, both of them wore casual clothes, concealing their weapons underneath. If they paraded around with an older lady and pregnant woman, openly carrying guns and wearing anything indicating they were West Guard, then it would attract too much attention.

And Mary couldn't be anywhere without them.

Nathan sat next to her on the bench and nodded to Linda. She nodded back, her long, black ponytail swinging as she walked along, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.

"When are they going to give him his phone back and let him leave?" Mary asked Nathan. "Has there been another threat?"

"No," he replied. "But last I heard, they kind of didn't know what to do. He's never been attacked or threatened before. There's always some wacko that puts up a threat on social media, you know? It happens to all the leaders eventually, but that's never happened to him. I think the closest thing I can remember is some white lady showed up in the middle of the night and said Hosteen was the father of her baby. She wasn't armed, but she refused to leave until he paid her child support. I think she just forgot to take her medication that day."

"Was the estate on lockdown?"

"Nope. She wasn't armed or hostile. There was no reason for him to fear for his safety. And besides, women say stuff like that to him all the time. He gets love letters, underwear, one time he got a lock of hair."

"He really didn't…he really didn't have a child with her, did he?" Mary felt embarrassed for asking, but she was having a moment of insecurity. She knew about all the attention Leonard got; all the so-called fan mail. Once, he showed her screenshots Intelligence sent him of messages from women, and some men, gushing about him, proclaiming their undying love, some of it in language that made Mary's face burn. Intelligence could find anything that mentioned one of the Presidents on the Internet; mostly to make sure someone wasn't planning an assassination.

Mary wasn't jealous when she saw those things; in fact, she was pleased. Someone so desirable with her, in love with her, made her feel strangely powerful.

But now that she was pregnant, she was feeling a little different.

Nathan laughed. "Absolutely not."

"Was she pretty?" Mary mumbled, looking down at her hands.

Nathan smiled. "She was just an average woman. You'd think looking the way he does, he'd have a million kids all over the Union, but he's not like that at all."

Mary nodded. She was feeling insecure for a lot of reasons. One being that she felt like a whale. She wasn't that big just yet, but she was big enough and was only going to get bigger. She watched women walk by her, tall women like herself. Tall and slim, with long legs and flat stomachs. Mary put her hands on her belly and tried not to think about how many crunches and sit-ups she was going to have to do after she gave birth.

"I know he's not," Mary said quietly. "But sometimes I wonder if he loves me because he really does or if he feels like he has to. Just because we're the same kind."

Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the crowd for a minute or two. A wealthy Cheyanne family walked by them. Mary could tell they were wealthy by the jewelry they wore. The woman had diamonds and emeralds inserted into the braids in her hair. Her makeup was done like a white woman's except for the band of deep red face paint across her eyes. The man's nose and ears were pierced with gold and platinum rings and studs. He also had the same red paint band across his eyes. Neither of them wore traditional clothing, but their children did. The two little boys rode on hovering scooters that zipped down the walking mall ahead of their parents. It was jarring to see the boys dressed like that on something so modern. Their appearance was a mix of antiquity and modernity, a collision of cultures and time periods. It was very common in the West.

Nathan followed Mary's gaze. "I wish we had those when I was little. We were supposed to have hovering skateboards in 2015 and we didn't."

"Supposed to?" Mary asked.

"Yeah," he shook his head and laughed. "It was because of this movie. Long before your time." He turned his body towards her, his eyes still watching the crowd. "He loves you because he does. Not because he has to. You can trust me on that."

Mary felt a little better. But also silly that she needed reassurance. Weren't the things Leonard said to her enough? These damned hormones were making her too sensitive.

Mary stared at Nathan. "Are you ninety-three, too, or a hundred?"

"Neither," he sat back and looked at her.

He looked like he was thirty something. Mary was starting to realize that's where the aging process stopped for them. She wondered why. Was she going to stop aging in her thirties, too?

"I was born in 1980," he said. "I'll be seventy next year."

"So, you were born this way?"

"No." He paused. "Linda wasn't either." He paused again and looked like he was trying to sort through his thoughts as he looked around at the crowd. "I think everyone in the Old Republic thought all of us owned casinos, and we didn't pay any taxes. Like we had our compensation. I wasn't raised like all the other Native people I knew. My family didn't live on a reservation. The one Hosteen lived on?" He turned to look at her. "No plumbing. 2016 and there was no plumbing. Half of the houses didn't even have electricity. Can you believe that?"

Mary couldn't. At all. She knew how the Old Republic had treated the Native people of this continent, but no utilities at all?

"I guess, being that we didn't have that much power, it was easy to forget about us or use us for things. Experiments and such. I mean, when we disappeared, who would miss us? There were Tribal Police on the big reservations, but no one in the Old Republic took disappearances or murders seriously if it was one of us."

"Were you kidnapped?" Mary asked, beginning to wonder if her grandparents worked with Tribal Police. The FBI had been a national police force.

He rubbed his chin and sat forward again, watching the crowd as he talked. "There was this ad on a social media site, asking for full-blooded Native men and women for some kind of genetic research. The ad promised this huge payment and being that me and my friends were broke, we decided to check it out. I remember they had us sign all these waivers. Weird stuff, like we couldn't sue or seek medical attention if certain things started happening to our bodies. Even if it didn't happen for a long time. We couldn't talk about what was done to us to anyone. We had to be willing to come to follow up appointments for the next five years. I almost backed out, but it was a lot of money. Fifty thousand dollars. Paid up front in cash. So, I went through with it and this is what happened." He gestured to himself. "I'm no longer a person. I'm something else."

"An alien," Mary said.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm never going to die." He looked over at her. "I don't get sick. I don't age. I won't die. I should be happy about it. But I see and hear things, too. Disturbing things. And as part of the agreement, all the guys were given vasectomies and the women had their ovaries removed. They didn't want us to pass this down." He paused. "Sometimes, you don't know you want something, until you can't have it."

Mary didn't say anything for a minute, saddened by his story. It had to be the same people responsible for her grandmother and mother. The SRP and Gibson, too. What were those people trying to do? Her grandmother hadn't mentioned anything like this, but maybe she didn't know about it.

"What did you do with all the money they gave you?" Mary asked.

He smiled at her. "We put all of it together and bought a casino."

Mary smiled back, then she looked at him solemnly. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I think I know who they were. My grandmother had experiments done on her, too. But she was abducted."

"Oh, I know who they are," he replied, the tone of his voice darker. "They're all dead now." He turned his head to her, looking her right in the eyes. "Every single one of them. Gone."

Mary was mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes. She could feel something coming from him; anger and vengeance. She didn't really want to acknowledge it, but she could sense he had something to do with that.

Mary heard her phone chime, and she quickly took it out and tapped open the screen, hoping it was a message from Leonard. Instead, it was a notification about Alvin Kersh. She'd set up one on her newsfeed each time a new story was posted about him.

So far, he was keeping his distance from the media and hadn't consented to an interview. But there were images of him popping up all over the place. Mary tried to remember what the typical process was for a Presidential candidate. She thought back to when the SRP and Leonard had been candidates, but she really hadn't been paying attention to the news at the time.

The candidates met with each President individually, but didn't they also have a meeting with all of them together? Oh, God…Kersh was going to meet with Leonard at some point. Kersh was going to shake hands with him and talk to him. Her husband was going to be in the same room with Alvin Kersh.

Mary shivered, suddenly feeling the dread and fear pulse through her veins like it had when she'd spoken to Simon's grandmother.

When Mary had asked Monica about Kersh, Monica's face had instantly went completely white.

"Who did you say?" Monica asked.

"Alvin Kersh," Mary replied. "You knew him, didn't you?"

Monica slowly sank down on one of the cushions and fell silent for a few seconds. Mary sat down next to her.

"Did your grandmother tell you about him?" Monica asked, her expression a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"No," Mary replied.

Monica stared at her, waiting for her to explain, but Mary didn't really want to. Mary turned away, avoiding Monica's eyes, hoping she wouldn't have to discuss how she'd met Kersh.

"Mary," Monica said firmly. "If you want my help with anything, you have to be honest with me. You have to tell me where you heard that name."

"I didn't hear it from anyone," Mary murmured. "I, um…I met him."

Monica looked upset. " _Met_ him? He died years ago."

"Well…," Mary kind of hoped Simon would come back downstairs and she'd have an excuse to leave.

Monica sighed impatiently and grabbed Mary's hand, squeezing it. "I promise you, whatever you tell me, I will take it to my grave. But you have to tell me where and when you met him. It's very important."

Mary bit her lip, uncertain. What would Monica think of her? She didn't think Monica would hate her or report her actions, but still…

"Tell me," Monica demanded. "Where did you meet him?"

Mary told her the story, afraid to look her in the eye, tears spilling down her cheeks as she said the words. This felt even worse than talking to Gibson about it, because Simon, her own grandson, had been there, too.

After Mary was finished, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Monica took her eMorely over to the window and opened it. She took a few drags from it, blowing the smoke outside. Mary noticed her hand was shaking.

"My network access isn't as limited as your grandmother's," Monica said finally. "I just choose not to watch the news or anything. It's always depressing. So, that's why I didn't know. I didn't know he was running for ERP."

Monica had looked almost panic-stricken when Mary told her what Kersh was doing now. It just made Mary feel worse. Monica's reaction to him was even more unsettling than the SRP's and Gibson's.

God…the mistake she'd made. She felt like it was the worst thing anyone had ever done.

"What did he say to you?" Monica asked, exhaling another stream of vapor. "It wasn't him that did it?"

"Yeah," Mary answered, another tear falling down her cheek. "I don't know what he was talking about, but he thought I was my mother at first. He said her name."

"And yours, too?"

"Yes."

Monica closed the window and put away her eMorley, sitting down next to Mary again. "You shouldn't have done that, but he also shouldn't have lied to you. There was no way you could have known otherwise. So, blaming yourself and getting upset about it isn't going to help anything now. It happened. He survived somehow, and he's going to be the next ERP. We might as well accept that."

Mary nodded, trying to calm herself down.

"We have to get Dana and Emily out of the East. I have no idea what his intentions would be when he's elected, but this isn't a man with good intentions. For anyone. I'm absolutely positive he knows your grandmother and I are still alive. That's not hard to find out. It wouldn't be too hard for him to eventually find all the other people in your family. And mine, too."

"But all of that happened a long time ago," Mary said. "My grandfather is dead now. What would be the point in coming after her after all this time? Or you?"

"I honestly don't know," Monica replied, sorrow filling her eyes. "Because you're right: there is no point now. There has to be another reason, but…" she shook her head, "I can't think of one."

As Mary thought about that conversation, she felt like she was going to be sick. It felt like there were icicles in her veins. She turned off her phone and tried to stop the spinning feeling in her head.

"You okay?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah," Mary replied, looking around. She saw a pet store close by. "I'm going to go in there for a minute." She stood up, and Nathan followed her. Maybe looking at kittens and puppies would help her feel better.

When Mary went inside the shop, Nathan looked up and down the aisles, probably counting all the people in there already and trying to gauge whether they were armed or not. Open-carry was illegal for private citizens in the West, but most people had a conceal-carry permit. There were small, pocket-sized revolvers that were very popular in the West. They could easily be hidden in someone's jacket or a lady's purse. It also made it difficult to tell if someone was armed, so one should just assume everyone was.

Mary made a beeline towards the cages of puppies up for adoption. If Sasha wasn't around, she might have actually impulse-bought one just for the hell of it. She'd never had a dog before or a cat.

She tried to keep her thoughts from spinning out of control as she looked at the puppies wagging their tails at her and barking. A hologram appeared beside her asking if she'd like some more information. Mary swiped it away.

As she was making her way across the store to where the kittens were, she heard a noise beside her, a clanking sound. She saw a door, slightly ajar, leading to a backroom. There were cages in it, and Mary went towards it, wondering if there were more puppies and kittens in there.

When she stuck her head in the doorway, she saw that it wasn't puppies or kittens. Not mammals at all.

The cages, stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling were filled with pythons. South Region pythons.

Mary cautiously stepped into the room. The pythons were far too big for these cages. They were all twisted up, pressed against the bars. They had no room whatsoever to move around. Mary noticed a tag on one of the cages and read it. This python, a red one, was going to be shipped to the African Union.

Pretty much every country in the world banned South Region pythons because they were so dangerous, but there were people on the Dark Net that captured them and sold them around the world. Mary wasn't sure why or what the pythons were used for, but it couldn't be anything good.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw a yellow python on a middle shelf. Yellow with olive green spots. Mary went over to it and instantly recognized it.

"Samantha?" Mary said softly.

She raised her head weakly, and turned to look at Mary. She didn't look good at all. She looked like she hadn't been fed in days.

"What are you doing in a cage?" Mary asked, as if Samantha could answer.

Mary looked at the tag and saw Samantha was bound for Peru.

Samantha tilted her head at Mary and flicked her tongue in and out. She looked as sad as a python could possibly look.

"I'll get you out of there," Mary said, closing the door to the backroom slightly, and looking for a latch or lock to open the cage, but there wasn't one. So she concentrated until the metal bars began to bend and break, creating a big enough opening for Samantha to slither through.

Samantha's long body spilled out onto the floor slowly until she was completely free. She wound around Mary, laying her head on Mary's shoulder, giving her a "hug."

"I missed you, too," Mary said, patting her head. Mary was relieved Samantha hadn't been killed by an alligator. She looked around at all the other cages and wished she could let those pythons free, too, but that wouldn't be a good idea with so many children and small animals around. Mary wasn't sure what to do with Samantha, though. Would Samantha understand directions to Mary's house?

Mary found another door that led outside. She didn't see any alarms on it, and opened it to let Samantha out. "I'm living in the West now," Mary said quietly. "It's a house down the beach with big windows. You're going to have to be very careful to make sure no one sees you."

Samantha tilted her head to one side and then the other, as if she was listening.

"I know you must be hungry, but make sure you don't eat anything cute. Maybe an ugly rat no one would like, okay?"

Samantha flicked her tongue out as if she were saying "okay."

"I'll look for you later." Mary held open the door to let Samantha go, realizing she needed to go back out into the store so Nathan wouldn't panic.

Mary left the backroom and made a note to herself to make an anonymous report about this store when she got home. What they were doing was illegal and dangerous. Mary didn't see any live clerks around. Most retail establishments used holograms or AIs to wait on people.

Mary looked around until she found Nathan in the Deep Sea section, kept dark and cold for the creatures inside the aquariums. She saw him jump back when an anglerfish appeared out of the murky water in the glass case in front of him, a vicious-looking face with a tiny light over its head.

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed.

"Can we find Nurse Owens and Linda? I want to go back home now." Mary said, standing next to him.

He pointed to the aquarium. "Did you see that thing? Why would anybody want that in their house?"

Mary shrugged. "Maybe to scare away burglars?"

"That's what guns are for," he replied as they walked out of the store and onto the walking mall. "Six grand for that thing." He shuddered. "What in the hell is the matter with people?"

Nathan continued to complain about how ridiculous people were these days, wanting ugly fish in their homes, as they found Linda and Nurse Owens. Mary wasn't really paying attention. She was listening to make sure people weren't screaming and shouting about a python loose somewhere. She really hoped Samantha would be careful.

They went back to the house and Linda went in first to disable the alarm. Mary went straight out to the patio, but it was just Sasha laying there, half asleep. Mary hadn't thought about that. She hoped Sasha wouldn't try to hurt Samantha when she showed up.

Mary set her shopping bags down and announced she was going to take a nap. When she got back to her room, she shut the door, and nearly screamed when she noticed someone sitting on her bed.

Leonard held up a finger to his lips.

Mary felt a wave of comfort wash over her. How did he get here? Was the lockdown lifted?

She could see two small bandages covering the wound on the side of his head. The skin around it was inflamed. What had he been hit with? Did Dominique really do that?

He came over to her and held her close to him. "Are you okay?" He whispered. "No one would tell me anything. I couldn't just stay there and worry about you anymore."

"I'm okay," Mary replied. She gently touched the wound on his head. "Are you okay? What did she do to you?"

"I don't know if it was a woman." He looked humiliated for a second. "I didn't see who it was. They were behind me."

"Did they really try to strangle you?" She traced her finger around a faint pink line on his neck.

"They tried. I don't know who it was. I was trying to fight them off, but then everything went black. It's all fuzzy."

"How did you get here?"

They sat down on the bed. Mary wasn't tired anymore, and she forgot all about Samantha.

"They had to let me go. I have to go to the Mojave, but I wanted to spend some time with you first."

"They let you just walk down here, without any Guard?"

"Not exactly. I left without them. Nathan and Linda are here, so one can leave with me while one stays here. They can come back when I get there."

Mary didn't like seeing him like this. He was anxious, his speech rapid and shaky. For the first time, the safety she always felt with him faltered.

"Someone is going to look for you, though. They'll think you're missing."

He waved that aside. "Nathan or Linda can make up something. I had to see you." He gently cupped her face his hands. "I just wanted to be with my wife without anyone around; without anyone watching or listening."

"Like normal," Mary said softly.

"Yeah. Like normal."

"How long can you stay?" Mary was afraid of the answer.

"Tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too." His shoulders sagged like someone was pressing down on him. "But I have to go there." He paused. "The _Voyagers_ came back."

It took Mary a minute to remember those space probes. "Back how? Coming back here, too? Like the _Pioneers_?"

"They're not coming back. Not right now. But they sent a bunch of sound waves just like the _Pioneers_ did." He shook his head. "I shouldn't be telling you all of this." He turned away from her, putting his face in his hands. "I don't know what's going on out there."

Mary had never seen him like this. She put her arm around him. "And no one knows what they're sending?"

He shook his head, then turned to her again, gathering her up in his arms. "If I asked you to leave here with me, go somewhere else, somewhere we can be safe and our children would be safe, would you do it?"

Mary searched his eyes, not sure what he was asking. "Go where?"

"Just somewhere. Anywhere but here. Outside of the Union, maybe. We could just disappear together. Would you do it?"

"But…how? How would we do that? People would look for us. Especially you."

"Then we'd have to make sure we're never found."

Mary looked into his eyes, seeing how serious he was. It made her feel frightened. What kind of danger were they in? How grave would it have to be for him to ask her this?

But Mary didn't hesitate to answer for another second. "Yes. Yes, I would."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _4:39pm_

They were pulling up to what seemed like the five-hundredth hospital now. The directions were still projected on the windshield of the car as Gibson got out and looked at the name on the side of the building.

This one was the Third Hospital of the Latter-Day Saints. They'd already been to one and two.

And the First Baptist Hospital

And one with its name written in Hebrew.

All medical facilities in the NAU were owned by religious organizations. Once the transition was over, and religious groups realized they were going to lose their tax-exempt status, they began funneling their money into hospitals and clinics, calling them a "charity." There were about a million hospitals named St. Mary or St. Jude or St. Whoever. Another few hundred named Our Lady of This or Our Lady of That. Hospitals and clinics with names in Hebrew and Arabic. Baptist, Methodist, and Lutheran. Catholic, Muslim, Wiccan, and Buddhist. Every religion in the NAU was represented. Atheists had a hard time finding medical care. As long as the Union wasn't funding a particular facility, medical practitioners had every right to refuse treatments or procedures to whoever they wanted on the grounds of religious freedom.

But the West had a particular division of Protestantism that the other regions didn't have: the Mormons.

Gibson looked at his phone. He'd been trying to call ahead to find out if Dominique had been sent here. His phone call was transferred through several different people, and he was still on hold as he and the Guard member, Julie, went inside.

As He Stands wasn't answering his damn phone, and Gibson couldn't remember if Dominque had been in a Presbyterian or Episcopal hospital in the East. It was one or the other. Where in the hell was As He Stands? Gibson hadn't seen him at all since he'd arrived in the West.

As Gibson entered with Julie leading the way, he saw the teachings of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, the same ones that were at the previous Mormon hospitals, quoted all over the entrance.

The young man minding the front desk looked stunned when he saw Gibson and Julie, her M4 strapped around her, approach him.

"Blessings to you, sir," he stammered out, eyeing Julie's gun. "And to you, miss."

"Is Dominique Sainclair here?" Gibson asked with impatience. He was tired of driving around to look for her. They'd given up yesterday, and were still looking today. It shouldn't be this hard to find her.

The young man continued to stare at him, clearly recognizing who he was. Gibson noticed female staff walking by, wearing long dresses to their ankles.

"Can you search for her, please?" Gibson said, nodding to the computer monitor. "Dominique Sainclair?"

The young man stopped staring and typed Dominique's whole name as Gibson spelled it for him. Gibson thought Dominique would have been taken to the closest hospital but apparently not. And none of the hospitals shared lists of current patients, especially if they were owned by different religious sects.

Gibson's phone started beeping, and he saw it was the SRP again. He'd been ignoring her calls ever since he'd hung up on her. She wasn't going to leave him alone until he answered.

"Hold on a minute," Gibson grumbled and answered the call.

"What's going on?" The SRP shouted. It sounded like she was rushing through a hallway. "Why won't you answer my calls?"

"Can I call you back?" Gibson moved away from the front desk. "Hosteen is fine. You need to calm the hell down. Just wait for me to call you back in a bit."

"Where are you?"

"I'm trying to find Dominique. I don't know which hospital she was taken to."

"Are you absolutely sure it was her that attacked Hosteen?"

"Not absolutely, but close enough." Gibson walked outside, safe from the ears of Julie and the young man at the front desk.

"I don't get why she'd do something like that. I never got the impression she was crazy."

"I don't know either, but I want to talk to her. Do you remember what hospital she was at in the East? Was it Presbyterian?"

"I don't know, but you need to give up on that for now."

"Why?"

"Because your new assistants are going to be at the WRP's estate in a few minutes. I was going to tell you yesterday and you cut me off."

Oh, God. He swore under his breath. He didn't want even more people following him around. "Why are they coming here? Can't that wait until I get back?"

"No, it can't." There were people talking softly in the background. She must be getting ready to talk to her Council again. "You're doing the whole job now, and you need someone to manage your schedule and represent you to the media."

Gibson was aggravated. "I don't need that while I'm here. They can wait until I'm back in the South."

"Well, it's too late now. They've been cleared and sworn in. You and Byers were doing half of the same job. You're doing all of it now, and you need staff to help you. I'm not going to make them come back."

"Okay, fine," Gibson replied, walking back inside. "But stop calling and messaging me. I thought you were coming here, too."

"I can't right now," she lowered her voice. "The whole Council is here now. I don't think I'm going to be able to convince them of anything, but I have to try. If I there can somehow be a tie, two Councils accepting and two declining, then Burns, Hosteen, and I get to vote."

"You won't convince Burns. He's happy to have anyone in place of Avenham. He'd vote in an alligator."

"Oh, won't I? Hosteen will be on my side. Burns won't have a choice."

"They're going to want to meet Kersh first." Gibson thought about that man coming to the West, going into Hosteen's home, and shaking hands with a hybrid who was breeding a race of hybrids unlike the world, or anything out of it, has ever seen with Dana Scully's granddaughter. It made his stomach turn.

"I don't want to think about that right now," the SRP's voice was still hushed.

"What do you think he'll say to you?" Gibson asked, suddenly fearful over what could happen when Kersh officially meets with her. Is he doing this so he can get close enough to hurt her? Or kill her? He didn't think she could be killed.

But that opportunity had been there for years. Like with Scully, if Kersh wanted to harm Marita Covarrubias, he would have done so a long time ago.

Why on earth would Kersh run for ERP then? That question was going to drive Gibson crazy.

"I don't know what he'll say," the SRP replied. "He might just take me to an island and leave me there." She sighed heavily. "Alright I have to go, and you need to go meet your new staff. There's only two coming. The rest I sent to your estate to make sure Byers didn't leave it a mess."

"You could have at least let me pick some of them out, too."

She swore at him and hung up.

Damn it. He didn't have time for this. Why was she sending them here? He could manage a couple of months without two assistants tagging along with him. He was doing fine so far.

Except for losing track of Dominique.

And sleeping with Alvarez.

And not being there when Dominique tried to shoot Mary.

Okay, maybe he needed some help.

Gibson went back into the hospital to get Julie. The young man behind the desk stood up straighter. "I'm sorry, sir, that person isn't here." He paused. "But, um…," he looked around and leaned over the desk. "Is she the South Guard that attacked President Hosteen?"

Gibson wasn't sure how he should answer. He had to be careful about everything he said now. "I can't make a definitive statement about that."

"I heard she's at St. Elizabeth's," the young man said confidentially. "I heard she's a _Catholic_ ," he said it like it was a dirty word, "so she was transported to one of _those_ hospitals." The young man was looking at Gibson and Julie as if they understood his subtext.

"Okay," Gibson replied. "Thank you."

He and Julie left, walking back out to the car.

"So, St. Elizabeth's then?" Julie asked, getting in the car.

"No," Gibson replied, getting in behind her. "The WRP's estate."

"Are you cleared to go back?" She turned around to look at him.

"I have to meet some people there."

Julie pulled the directions up on the windshield, with live traffic information. They weren't that far from the WRP's estate, at least.

Gibson checked his phone to see if Scully called him again or sent him anything. Instead, he found a long list of notifications, mostly about hurricanes, then one message from the Covarrubias Administration, ordering all Councilmembers to return to the South immediately; one message about updates to the South Region weather systems, another update to the South Region inmate locator, another update about pending executions, another update about South Region government closings for the holidays.

There was more, but he stopped scrolling.

He turned his phone off and tossed it on the seat. He didn't need to know all this. This was all the shit Byers added him to be vindictive. Byers didn't manage any of that, did he? Gibson hadn't really known what this whole job entailed. He needed assistants if he was going to be managing all that stuff and everything the SRP made him do.

Twenty minutes later, Julie pulled into the WRP's estate. Gibson saw the South Region flags on a car parked in the front. As soon as Julie turned in, West Guard came pouring out of the entrance and stopped them.

Julie rolled down the window and a West Guard poked her head in. "I'm sorry, sir, but you need to get out so we can search the vehicle."

"For what?" Gibson asked, getting out of the car.

She didn't answer and made Julie open up the trunk.

Gibson saw two people get out of the other car, a young man and woman. They each wore a badge with a Smartcard, and they were both dressed in South Region green. The guy was Seminole. The SRP must have chosen him to appease the Seminole-Creek Federation. They were probably still displeased she hadn't appointed one of them as Regional Secretary.

Gibson watched his new assistants approach him, both of them trying to look like they knew what they were doing. Gibson could tell they'd both tried hard to look like they were important. Brand new clothes and shoes, the woman had on little jewelry, but he could see her nails were perfectly manicured when she held out her hand to him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Praise," she said, shaking his hand.

"Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to serve you." The Seminole guy shook Gibson's hand as well. "I'm Liam Oxendine."

Gibson nodded at him.

"I'm Ava Fowley," the woman said.

Gibson looked at her for a minute. That name was familiar. She didn't look familiar though. She had dark hair and blue eyes that, for an instant, he thought were glowing but they weren't. They were just really blue. Intensely blue.

"What did you say your name was again?" Gibson asked her.

"Ava."

"No, your last name."

She glanced worryingly over at Liam. "Fowley?"

He knew that name from somewhere. Was there a Councilmember with that name?

He could hear Ava was worried she'd made a bad impression. Liam wasn't really thinking about anything. He was watching the West Guard search the car.

"Well," Gibson said. "I'm sorry you came all the way here and can't get in. I've been staying at the Presidential Hotel in the meantime."

He looked both of them over, trying to decide who should do what. Maybe Liam should be his media person. Liam wasn't bad-looking and it would make the Seminole-Creek happy. "Do you get nervous talking in front of crowds or cameras?" Gibson asked him.

"No, not really. I've never really talked in front of a camera, though. You mean like for the news?"

"Yeah. Can you do that?"

"Sure," he said, looking around. "Are they still following you?"

"No. West Guard sent them away. There was an incident here. I'm sure you heard about it. When the media does come back, you talk to them for me. Just make sure whatever you say is vague. And don't divulge too many details about anything."

"Okay, I can do that," Liam smiled.

Gibson took out his phone and handed it to Ava. "You see all that?" He scrolled down the screen showing her all the notifications. "Get rid of all of it, except for the hurricane alerts."

"Yes, sir," she smiled, immediately tapping on the screen.

"You should both go get checked in. I'll be there later."

Gibson went back over to Julie. West Guards were still searching the car, running scanners over the hood.

"We're leaving," Gibson told them.

"St. Elizabeth's?" Julie asked.

"No. Let's go back to that beach house."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2049_

 _5:11pm_

Nurse Owens was standing on a chair, holding a broom in her hands. "Mary! You can't have snakes and mountain lions around you in your condition!"

Samantha was coiled up at Mary's feet, looking up at Nurse Owens. Sasha, growling quietly, was hunched up on the couch, eyeing Samantha with suspicion. Mary had ordered Samantha and Sasha to be nice to each other, standing in between them on the patio when Samantha finally showed up and Sasha tried to attack her.

Mary hoped they would listen to her.

"She's _not_ going to hurt you!" Mary exclaimed. "I can't really explain it, but she listens to me. I promise she won't hurt you or me."

"It's dangerous!" Nurse Owens insisted. "I'm drawing the line!"

"There's nowhere else she can go. Someone might kill her. Or capture her again and try to ship her off somewhere."

"That's fine with me!"

Mary looked sadly down at Samantha. "What if she just stays in my room? And I let her out in the mornings so you don't have to see her?"

Nurse Owens looked at Mary like she had six heads. "Seriously? You want a _python_ sleeping in your room? In your condition?"

Mary was getting impatient. "She _won't_ hurt me. Or anyone else if I tell her not to. You have to trust me."

Mary began to wish Simon was here. He knew Samantha wasn't dangerous. But, as he'd promised, he'd left shortly after they got back from seeing his grandmother. He made one final attempt to find out who the father was, but Mary refused to tell him. A small part of her wished she could. He'd saved her and taken her to see Monica, but Mary didn't think he would handle the truth very well.

Mary heard the patio door slide open as Nathan let Gibson inside. At least Nathan and Linda weren't freaking out. Gibson took one look at Samantha and ran back outside, cursing, and pulling out his gun.

"No, no, no!" Mary stood in front of Samantha. "Don't shoot her!"

"How did a python get in there?!" Gibson shouted.

"It's kind of hard to explain, but she's kind of like my pet," Mary motioned for Gibson to put his gun down. "I found her in a pet store here. She was getting shipped to Peru."

Gibson lowered his gun and looked behind Mary. "Good God, that thing is huge!"

Samantha slithered towards Nurse Owens on the chair. Nurse Owens waved the broom at her as a warning. "Talk some sense into her!" She called to Gibson. "Tell her to get this thing out of here!"

"She's not going to hurt anyone!" Mary shouted, getting even more impatient. But she could see why a South Region python, languidly coiled up in the living room as if it owned the place, would scare someone. Samantha was big enough to squeeze any one of them to death.

"Come in here," Mary gestured to Gibson.

He timidly stepped inside. "How do you know it's a she?" He moved behind a chair as Samantha slowly moved towards him. "Oh, shit! Shit! What's she doing?" He flattened himself against the wall.

"She just wants you to pet her," Mary replied, going over to him. "Samantha this is Gibson."

Samantha raised up to look at him, flicking out her tongue.

"Samantha?" Gibson said. "You named that thing Samantha?"

Mary took his hand and brought it to Samantha's head. "See? She's not going to hurt you."

Gibson rubbed Samantha's head for a second, then yanked back his hand. "You named a python Samantha?"

"I heard my grandparents talking about someone named Samantha one time." Mary looked over at Nurse Owens. "See? She's not trying to eat Gibson."

Nurse Owens lowered the broom a little bit.

Gibson cautiously reached out his hand to rub Samantha's head again. "Your grandfather had a sister named Samantha. He used to think about her a lot." He moved away from the wall. "I can't believe she's not trying to attack me. Or anyone else." He looked over at Mary with amusement. "You just found her in a pet store?"

"Actually, it was when I was in the academy. She was dying from the poisonous bait and I saved her. Then she kept finding me and listening to what I would tell her. I don't know why. I didn't see her again after I graduated. Then I saw her in a pet store here the other day. They're illegally smuggling pythons out of the country."

Samantha turned around and went back towards Nurse Owens, determined to win her over.

"What store is it?" Gibson said, looking concerned.

"It's that one on the walking mall," Mary watched Samantha look up at Nurse Owens, tilting her head at her.

Nurse Owens stuck out her hand and pulled it back. "Does she have fangs?"

"No, they don't have fangs." Mary said.

"Did you report them?" Gibson asked.

"I made an anonymous report online, but I'm sure there's people in the South capturing them."

"I'm going to have to send Guard over there," Gibson said, watching Nurse Owens try to pet Samantha again.

"Please don't bite me," Nurse Owens mumbled to Samantha, carefully patting her on the head.

"I told you!" Mary said triumphantly. "She's not dangerous."

Sasha huffed from the couch, got up, and sulked over to the patio doors, wanting to be let out. Mary could tell she was upset because no one was paying attention to her.

Mary knelt down next to Sasha. "I'm sorry. But we all know you're not dangerous. I have to show everyone Samantha isn't dangerous either." Sasha looked at her, pouting, waiting for Mary to open the door. "I know you miss Leonard, but he'll be back to see you soon."

Mary let Sasha out, hoping Leonard would come back soon. He'd stayed two nights, and seemed more like himself when he left. Mary thought maybe it was the knock to the head that made him out of sorts. It had been positively blissful falling asleep in his arms and waking up with him, knowing no one was going to knock on the door and take them away from each other.

She couldn't wait until it was like that all the time. Never having to tell him goodbye and wait for days or weeks before she could see him again. She didn't think it was possible to fall deeper in love than she already was. But every second she spent with him, no matter what they did or what they talked about, she could feel herself tumbling deeper into that warm feeling.

They sat out on the beach one evening, Nathan close by and Linda keeping watch from the house. Mary watched the sunset, thinking about what he'd asked her; if she would disappear with him somewhere. He hadn't brought it up again, so she didn't either. But she wondered where they'd even go without him being recognized. Everyone knew who he was, and he couldn't just abandon his position.

She looked over at him and saw he was watching her. He gently wound a strand of her hair around his finger.

"I hope they look like you," he said softly, nodding to her stomach.

She smiled. "I was hoping they'd resemble you."

"Maybe Albert will take after me and Melissa will take after you."

Mary tried to quiet her fears about them being deformed. "I really just want them to be healthy and happy. And know that they are loved."

"I don't think we'll have a problem showing them that." He put his arm around her and she lay her head on his shoulder.

Mary could see Sasha running down the beach after a flock of birds. Mary thought cats didn't like water, but Sasha went splashing through the tide as if it didn't bother her.

"I'll make sure to send anything you need for them to the house," Leonard said. "I hope I can take some time off when they're born. I haven't had any time to rest or to myself since I was elected. My Council shouldn't have any problems with it."

Mary cuddled closer to him, putting both arms around him. Even if it was only for a short time, it would be nice to have him with her and their children. Like they're a normal family. Well…as normal as they can be.

"Did you, um…did you see Corporal Doggett?" Leonard asked with a frown.

"Yes, he took me to see his grandmother. She said she'd think about it. She wants me to tell my mother and grandmother first, but…"

"But what?"

Mary looked into his eyes and thought maybe for a second she could tell him the truth; that maybe she could say it: but my parents are half-siblings and they can hear each other's thoughts.

But the second passed.

"My mother will be upset with me," she said. "Getting married and having children without her knowing. I wish I'd been able to tell her, to include her in all this."

"Why didn't you?"

"The SRP told me it would be too dangerous for her to know."

He was quiet for a few minutes. Sasha came strolling over to them, giving up on catching any birds. She sat behind Leonard and nudged his arm with her nose.

He reached back to pet her. "I can understand why she'd tell you that. I haven't told my father for the same reasons. The less people know, the better."

"But it seems like a lot of people know now. Nathan and Linda. Nurse Owens, As He Stands, Gibson and the SRP. The priest and elder that married us. And your aunts."

"Gwen and Pam?" He smiled. "They can definitely keep a secret. No one would know what they're signing to each other. That's why I asked them to be there that night."

"It's still a lot of people. And whatever was done to Dominique…whoever did that to her found out somehow."

He frowned even more. "That's true. Someone we know isn't trustworthy then."

Mary's thoughts immediately went to the SRP. Out of everyone, she was the shadiest and the most manipulative. But she'd wanted this to happen. She'd orchestrated the whole thing. Why would she want to endanger them or their children?

Then Mary remembered that microchip the SRP had. Someone had followed her and Leonard to the Center and recorded everything. Her heart began to pound, her pulse throbbing in her neck. The SRP had paid them off, but still…who would have done that? Who would have been watching either one of them closely enough to follow them? Was it one of Leonard's devoted fans? Or was it someone she knew?

"What's wrong?" He said, noticing the look of alarm on her face.

"That time we met in the Center," her voice was shaking. "Someone followed us there and recorded what we said. Remember we thought we heard someone in the building? The SRP showed me the microchip. One of the ones they put in those fake bugs. She said she paid them off so it wouldn't be broadcast all over the Union."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I forgot about it. All this other stuff happened…and I just…I just forgot. She said she paid them forty thousand to keep quiet."

"Who? Did she say?"

"No. I guess it was a reporter or something."

"I need to call her," he said. "How would she have even known about it? Unless they approached her with it?"

"I don't know," Mary said. "I'm sorry I forgot. Please don't be angry with me."

He rubbed her arms. "I'm not. I swear I'm not. But…no one followed me. I'm absolutely positive. And no one followed you either, right?"

"No, I don't think so," Mary tried to remember the train ride. There was hardly anyone on there and definitely no one boarded with her at the station. "I didn't notice anyone."

He shook his head. "We have to find out who it is. Someone isn't keeping quiet about this." Sasha nudged his arm again, but he ignored her. "What do you know about Gibson?"

Mary looked at him, confused. "Gibson? It's not him. He's a little weird, but he wouldn't do something like that."

He nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "I'm going to have a talk with her. She should have told me about that and she didn't."

"Why is she helping us anyway? What's she getting out of it?"

"She knows what I am, and I know what she is. She just wants a better future, a better world."

"That's it?" Mary asked doubtfully.

He stood up and reached out a hand to help her up. Mary stopped him before they got to the steps, pulling him over to her. "Please don't be angry with me. I really just forgot. I don't want you to be upset with me."

He leaned his head against hers. "I'm not," he said softly. "I just feel like I'm failing. I'm supposed to protect and provide. I'm not being as good of a husband or a father as I wanted to be." He looked over at Nathan, waiting for them by the steps. "It should be me protecting you. I should have been here the other night." He looked at her again, running his eyes over her face. "You and the twins are the most precious things in the world to me, and I can't be with you as much as I should."

Mary didn't really know what to say. He was right: he couldn't be with them that much, but she didn't think he was failing at anything. This was the best he could do considering the circumstances.

Mary put her arms around him tightly. "But you're here now. We're together right now. We should make the most of it."

He nodded and followed her up the steps and back into the house. As Mary passed by Nathan, Linda, and Nurse Owens she began to worry. How much did she actually trust them? Was it possible either of them were spying for or working for anyone else?

Mary was thinking about that again, as she stood in the living room, Samantha coiling around her feet.

Nurse Owens stepped down from the chair and put away the broom. "Snakes and leopards all over the place," she grumbled. "This isn't a jungle."

"So, she can stay?" Mary asked.

"I'm not feeding her! _You_ want her here, then _you_ take care of her! But I swear if I see her so much as look at me like she wants to eat me, I'll shoot her."

Mary smiled. "She won't. Will you, Samantha?"

Samantha flicked out her tongue.

"She actually understands you?" Gibson asked.

"Yeah. I don't know how, but I think it's because I saved her."

Gibson looked at her then at Samantha, a smile forming on his face. "I didn't know you could do that."

"I'd never tried to with a snake before." Mary sat down on the couch. Samantha lay her head in Mary's lap. "I've done it before with bugs. There was a frog one time and a turtle, but Samantha took a lot more energy."

Mary noticed Gibson was looking at her strangely. Not really in a creepy way, but shyly, in a way that made her almost blush. He sat down next to her and pet Samantha again.

"Did you find Dominique?" Mary asked him.

That look disappeared from his face. "No, not yet. I'm going to try St. Elizabeth's next."

Mary looked around. Nurse Owens had gone back into her room. Nathan and Linda were outside. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "I heard Sarah Clinton talking about me."

He frowned. "Talking about you?"

"I couldn't hear all of it. It was after the SRP left. I heard Sarah on the phone with someone. She was talking about me."

He looked away from her. He looked like he was just remembering something. "What did she say exactly?"

"Something about a red-headed girl going into labor and children. It would have to be me. Why would she say those things? Did you say something to her?"

"God, no," he shook his head vigorously. "But, um…," he stood up. "I need to get going. My new assistants are here and they're probably looking for me."

"Don't leave yet! Why would she be talking about me? Tell me why."

"I'll come see you later."

"Gibson…"

"I'll be back!" He called to her as he walked quickly to the door and left.

* * *

"Is that Corporal Scully in there?" Julie asked as Gibson got in the car.

"Huh? No. Um, I have some family that lives here. I wanted to visit them while I'm here." He got in the car, looking for his phone, but realized he'd given it to Ava. That probably wasn't a smart thing to do. His other phone, the one he'd used before being appointed, was in the hotel room. "Take me back to the Presidential Hotel."

"Okay," Julie pulled the directions up on the windshield. "What family is it? Is that older lady your mom?"

"Yeah. Uh, no. She's my, um, aunt. My Aunt Jane."

"Oh," Julie replied, pulling out into traffic.

Julie continued to make small talk, but Gibson wasn't listening.

He knew who Sarah was talking to. It was all falling into place. Why the SRP was so hateful to her and why Sarah didn't fight back. He hoped he wasn't right, but he knew deep down that he was.

When they got to the hotel, Ava and Liam were out front waiting on him. Also, media. Lots of media. They'd been camping out in vans and trucks, spread out all over the property. They must have been tipped off he was staying here.

Liam and Ava came running over to him, and Gibson pointed to the reporters. "You're on," he said to Liam. "Go."

"Yes, sir," he smiled brightly, striding over to the cameras and straightening his tie. He looked like he was going to enjoy this.

"All done," Ava said brightly, handing him his phone. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do, sir?"

He walked inside towards the elevator and she followed him, getting inside with him.

"Call all the hospitals in the region, starting with St. Elizabeth's and ask if Dominique Sainclair is there."

"Yes, sir," she replied eagerly. "Anything else?"

He looked at her, at the smile she was giving him, and felt his heart start to pound for some reason. "Let me know when you find her, and then go to the WRP's estate and find out if I'm cleared to go back."

"Absolutely," she answered, pulling out her phone as the elevator reached his floor.

He went into his room and called the SRP. She might not answer just to be spiteful, but she picked up on the third ring.

"Make it quick!" She snapped.

"You're sending their children to Sarah Clinton," he snapped back.

She didn't say anything for a second. "Gibson, I don't have time – "

"You are! Just say it!"

Her tone was softer when she replied. "Can we talk about this when I get there? I'm leaving here in a few hours. Can it wait?"

"No, we're talking about this now! Why her? Is that why she has all those children? Which kind are they?"

"We have to talk about this in person," she replied. "Just wait until I get there, okay?"

"Is Sarah one of them, too? Which kind?"

"I said wait! Wait until I get there!"

She hung up.

He didn't know why he was so angry but he was. Probably because that had been happening under his nose, and he hadn't seen it. That was where Mary's twins were going. He was sure of it. But why Sarah Clinton? Why would she participate in this? She didn't look or seem like she was anything other than a normal human being. Now he knew her children weren't orphans; they were hybrids, but he didn't know which kind. Where did they even come from?

He sat on the bed and started wondering about Sarah's wife. He hadn't seen her through the whole visit. Sarah said she was away visiting family. Gibson did a search for her on his phone.

There were a few images of her accompanying Sarah to events. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she smiled for reporters and waved.

Brittany. Brittany Spender. He felt like he should know that name but he didn't.

She was Brittany Clinton now.

Okay, so if that was where Mary's and Hosteen's children were going, then he needed to make sure he was the one that took them. He hoped like hell the SRP would leave them alone. Mary and Hosteen were going to have plenty more. But what if she tried to separate the twins, taking one but leaving the other? That was even worse.

He tried to find more information on Brittany, but there wasn't much before she married Sarah. There was an interview she did, briefly talking about the death of her sister, Erin. Brittany was a private citizen, though. There wasn't much information about her.

He heard a knock on the door and tried to ignore it. He scrolled through more images of Brittany and Sarah together, but it was just them. No images of their children. They looked very happy together, at least.

He heard the knock again.

"What?" He said, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

The door opened a little and Ava poked her head in. "Mr. Praise? I don't mean to bother you, sir, but you've been gone all day. I thought maybe you wanted dinner in your room, so I called room service for you."

He looked over at her. "That's fine, thank you."

He thought she would leave, but she lingered in the doorway.

"Is there something else?" He asked impatiently.

"I just, um…I was wondering," she paused, looking down at her phone. "Is Dominique Sainclair the South Guard that attacked President Hosteen? I understand if you can't tell me, but I couldn't think of another reason why you'd want to find her."

He sighed irritably and shut off his phone. "Come in and shut the door."

She quickly obeyed and sat down at the desk chair across the room.

"She's innocent until proven guilty," he said. "You understand? If someone asks you, I don't care who it is, you can't make any comments, okay?"

She nodded quickly, watching his face. It made him feel self-conscious for some reason.

"But…it was her, wasn't it?" She ventured.

"I didn't see it," he said quietly. "But other people did."

She nodded again. They were quiet for a minute or so. He looked at her, trying to gauge the expression on her face. She seemed to be doing the same to him.

"Well," she stood up. "I'll leave you alone." She went towards the door.

"Did you work with Byers?" He asked her.

"No," she smiled at him. "I was supposed to, but," she laughed softly. "He chased all his staff off the estate with a chainsaw." She laughed again. "I mean, that's what they said, but I don't know."

He didn't know about that either, but it sounded like something Byers would do.

She opened the door to leave, but turned to him again. "I'm glad it's you, though." She looked flustered. "I mean, I'm glad I get to work with you and not him. I'll see you later, Mr. Praise."

Before she shut the door, he called to her, "You can just call me Gibson. Mr. Praise makes me feel old."

She smiled brightly at him again then left.


	28. Chapter 28

_The North American Union_

 _North Region_

 _2049_

 _12:53am_

William wearily shut and locked the door to his office.

The NARA shipment was a couple of hours late, and it wasn't even worth anyone's time. Half of the files in the trailer were moldy from exposure and none of them were from the FBI. Mostly IRS audits, DHS investigations, and some internal CIA matters. William sent out an email anyway, ordering the analysts to set aside any documents from the FBI for him to read over. But it didn't look like there was going to be any.

NARA had been gutted and more than half its contents dumped into the Potomac close to thirty years ago. William remembered it. There were video clips of citizens wearing masks to hide their identities, thinking they'd be jailed for vandalism, storming NARA, dragging out every book, file, roll of microfilm, and computer in the building, and gleefully destroying each and every one. There were quick takes of bonfires, axes, chainsaws, and cameras panning over the Potomac as it swelled with data and records, carrying it far away in the current to the Chesapeake Bay.

LAC had fared a little better, but most of what they received was in French and Pre-Confederation. Hardly anyone in the Union could read French. It wasn't taught anywhere except for special classes in private schools. It would take years to get through all those files and most of them would be useless now.

As William started walking towards the elevators, he began to get an eerie feeling; like he wasn't alone. He turned to look down the hallway behind him. Everyone was gone but him. All the offices were dark, but motion sensor lights had cut on down at the end. Had he done that?

He turned back around and continued walking, but he felt all the hairs on his neck stand up. He looked behind him again. In his periphery, he saw a figure next to him. He turned his head quickly, but there was no one there.

William swallowed and reached into his pocket to take the safety off his gun. He didn't like this feeling. It felt like the air around him was electrified; it felt like lightening was about to strike. Was there someone standing at the end of the hall? He stepped closer and realized it was just how the LEDs were reflecting off a filing cabinet.

William turned towards the elevators again and nearly dropped his briefcase when he saw the person standing right in front of him.

"Jesus, William! It's me!" Sam said, the red glow of his eMorley lighting up as he took a drag.

William swore. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were out of town!"

"I was," Sam replied, exhaling. "We got back early."

William stepped over to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. "You didn't have to sneak up on me."

"I didn't," Sam replied. "I came back to get some stuff out of my office. You're here awful late."

The elevator doors opened. William got inside and Sam did, too.

"How was it?" William asked.

"Meh," Sam took another drag and exhaled a plume of bluish vapor. "It's Africa. They're going to have six Presidents now. The sixth was sworn in a couple hours ago."

"Six? Why six?"

The doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby. "It's a culture thing, I guess. They think an extra will help with all the turmoil in the northern part. More land mass. More population density. Six is better than five, I think. Just my personal opinion."

William pulled out his key fob as they walked towards the garage. He turned his car on so it would be warm by the time he got in it. "Six just means more division. More disagreements over national concerns."

Sam shrugged and took another long drag, exhaling through his nostrils as he talked. "Well, they're building more Universities, at least. Kids are leaving Europe to go to school there. No wars, no outbreaks, no starvation. Africa is where humanity began, and that's where it will end, too. You can quote me on that."

William looked at Sam's eMorley disapprovingly. "You should stop doing that in here. People will complain."

Sam shrugged again. "Just Beth. She's not here, is she? I put an air filter in my office, and I keep the door shut just so she'll quit bitching. That should be enough. I've the right to do what I want in my own space."

William set his briefcase down in the backseat. He didn't really need it. Most of what he needed day-to-day was on his phone. But, for some reason, he felt like he should be carrying a briefcase. He'd seen important men carrying them in movies and television shows when he was growing up. It just felt like the thing to do.

"You're driving to the East this late?" Sam asked. "There's a blizzard headed that way."

"I'm not going there," William replied, opening the driver's side door.

"Oh," Sam nodded. "Is she gone for the weekend?"

"No. Kids are home for the weekend."

"Not for the holidays? Don't they get a break? I remember getting a Christmas break."

"Universities don't really do that anymore. You want to come by for a drink?"

"Why not?" Sam went around to the passenger side. "I haven't seen the lovely Madison in a while."

"You still might not see her. I'm sure she's passed out by now."

William got inside the car with Sam, and William drove them to the house he used to share with Madison. William was sure she'd locked him out, but he had a key and passcode for these situations. He owned the house. She couldn't change the locks without him knowing. Usually Eve or Ephraim told him ahead of time. He had a collection of keys and security passcodes in his car and stored in his phone from all the times Madison had tried to keep him from seeing his own children.

As they drove, William debated on whether or not he should ask Sam about Gibson Praise. Sam seemed to know a lot about the leaders of this country, particularly Julian Burns. He and Sam had known Burns long before he became the NRP, and not really in a good way. William was wondering if Sam ever met the new South Regional Secretary. William still wasn't sure what to think about Gibson coming into his office to talk to him. And why in the hell would his mother tell him he was Mary's father? That just didn't make any sense. What exactly did his parents help him with?

The drive to the house wasn't long. When they arrived, William was impressed to see the driveway and front sidewalk had been shoveled. Ephraim must have done it. Something he could use to get more money for whatever it was he did in school. William wasn't stupid. He knew Ephraim and Eve didn't really study much. They were in college. He remembered enough about his own college experience to know that Ephraim and Eve were more worried about drinking games and parties than grades.

William was surprised to see lights on in the windows when he parked. He wasn't sure if that meant his kids were still up or if Madison was.

"A quick drink," William said to Sam.

"Right," Sam replied, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out.

William walked in through the door, a little shocked that it was unlocked, to see Madison sitting in front of the TV. There was a stainless steel mug on the end table next to her. She tried to hide her drinking, but anyone could smell it on her.

She was drunkenly gesturing to the TV to enhance an image and then swiping through the channels. She was all dressed up. Her makeup completely done, nails painted, and her hair in perfect waves around her face. Had she been out this evening? He didn't know if she'd started seeing someone since they'd separated, but he also suspected she did this when she knew he'd be there to make him think just that.

Madison did absolutely nothing all day long. She didn't work in the Council anymore and had very few friends. He supported her and their children with his income. It wasn't something he felt righteous about or brought up in arguments. He felt like he owed this to her; to let her sit around all day, consuming liquor and wine, while he kept the lights on, the cable running, the WiFi secure, and provided any other amenities she needed. But at least she kept the place spotless. Even at her drunkest, everything was always clean and in perfect order.

Well, except for the Christmas tree she'd set up in the corner. She kept the decorations on it, shoved it in a closet after New Year's Day, and dragged it back out after Union Day. Most of the ornaments were falling off or laying on the floor. It wasn't even lit up.

William said hello, but she ignored him. He could tell by the stinging smell around her she was drinking bourbon. Her moods seemed to vary by whatever she chose to drink that evening. Dark liquors made her angry; clear liquors made her pass out quickly. Wine made her giggly and do odd things, like put on her old pageant dresses and walk up and down the hall as if it was a runway. He preferred the Madison that drank bottles of Chardonnay and White Zinfandel until she couldn't see straight. She wasn't as mean then.

"Hi, Madison," Sam smiled, sitting down.

She ignored him, too.

William went to find the liquor cabinet. Sometimes Madison just kept it in her bedroom, but he found it outside the kitchen. "What do you want?" William asked Sam.

"I don't care. Whatever you're having," Sam replied. He smiled at Madison and tried talking to her again. "How have you been? Are you still trying to get your real estate license?"

Madison cut her eyes over to him. "No."

"Hey, Dad!" Eve called, bouncing down the stairs.

She was dressed like any leisurely college girl with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun. It still startled him to see her this grown up.

"I missed you soooo much!" She flung her arms around him, and he hugged her back.

"Hi, sweetheart." He tried to gauge from her tone how much she was going to ask for. At least a couple thousand.

She followed him into the living room as he handed Sam his drink, and he took a seat at the far end of the couch, Madison looking over at him with pure hatred.

Eve leaned over the back of the couch. "So, how was your day? Why were you working so late?" She pretended to be concerned. She didn't really know what kind of job he had. He could hear her thoughts, about how she thought this would help her get more out of him. It's a blessing and a curse to know what your children are thinking, but they'd also learned how to hide some of their thoughts from him.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked.

She scoffed. "I'm not little anymore, daddy! I'm nineteen!"

"I know, but it's like after one in the morning."

"I was working on some stuff." She smiled. She and Esther had their mother's smile.

"Homework?"

"Yeah." She was lying, of course.

"Where's your brother?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, and pulled out her phone. "So, the Miss North Region pageant is in May."

"Oh yeah?" William sipped his drink, waiting for it.

"Yep." Eve tapped on her phone. "I've got a _really_ good talent set up, too. Guess what it is?"

William sighed. "How much?"

"Don't you want to hear what it is?" Eve pouted.

"How much?"

"I'm going to sing and play the piano. Ephraim taught me a little bit. I'm thinking something from _Phantom of the Opera_."

"How much?"

"Don't you care about what I'm going to do? You _are_ going to come this time, right? I'm sure I'll win this year. The other girls are kind of trashy."

"How _much_?"

Eve frowned. "Entry fee is about a thousand, but I need to get new dresses and order the music."

William rubbed the sides of his head. "So, more like two thousand?"

Ephraim came down the stairs and into the living room, sitting down next to him, and blocking Eve. "Hey, dad, can I talk to you for a second?"

" _I'm_ talking to him right now!" Eve smacked her brother on the shoulder. "You can bother him later."

"Hold on a minute," William replied to Ephraim, then looked at Eve. "Right? Two thousand?"

Ephraim turned to look at Eve, too. "Seriously? Quit being so greedy!"

"I need new dresses!" Eve exclaimed.

Ephraim turned to his father. "She's playing you. She doesn't need that much. She just wants more so she can pay the court fees for that douche she's blowing."

"Oh, God," William groaned. He really didn't need to know that.

Eve drew back with outrage. "Asshole! Daddy, he just wants money to fix the headlights on the car he ran into a fence when he was driving all high!"

"Shut your mouth! I wasn't high!"

"Get a drug test, then! If you're so innocent, pee in a cup!"

William gulped down all the whiskey in his glass.

"I did! It came back negative!" Ephraim stood up. "Quit lying about everything!"

"How am I lying?" Eve countered. "You drove into a damn fence and busted the lights!"

"I didn't do it! Brad took the keys and rode off in it!"

"You're such a liar!"

Madison handed her mug to Eve, interrupting them.

"Bourbon?" Eve asked.

"Whiskey," Madison slurred, making another round of swipes through all 4,000 channels on the TV.

"She's lying!" Ephraim said. "Dad, I swear! I didn't do shit!"

"Watch your mouth," William mumbled, but Ephraim didn't hear him.

Eve slammed the mug down on the table next to Madison, liquor spilling out of it. "Daddy, _he's_ lying! He's going to make you pay for the headlights, but it was _his_ fault!"

"Bullshit! You weren't even there!" Ephraim came around the couch to stand in front of her. "How about I tell dad about your boyfriend? The thirty year old with five kids!"

"He's not thirty, he's twenty-nine!" Eve shrieked.

Madison gulped down some whiskey, and William gestured for her to pass some over to him.

"I can't believe how much you lie!" Ephraim shouted. "You forget I can hear all of it right here." He jabbed Eve's forehead with his finger.

"Don't touch me!" Eve smacked his hand away, making him stumble back and drop his phone.

"Oh, you'd better pray that didn't break!" Ephraim picked it up. "You see that!" He pointed to the screen. "There's a crack in it now! You're buying me a new phone!"

"You did that when you drove your car through a fence!"

"Dad, she broke my phone!"

"I did not!"

"Oh, yeah? Let's see how you like it!" Ephraim looked at Eve's phone, flicking his eyes, causing it to fly out of her hand and smash into the wall behind her.

"Oh, you asshole!" Eve screamed, turning around to look. "Daddy, did you see that? He smashed up my phone!"

William put his head in his hands, feeling the beginning stages of a massive headache throb just behind his eyes.

"You deserve it!" Ephraim shouted, his hands balling into fists. "You're nothing but a lying slut!"

William wasn't looking, so he didn't really know who threw the first punch, but they were soon on top of each other, punching, slapping, and screaming. They'd started fighting like this when they were about thirteen or fourteen. If Esther were here, she'd be getting in between them to make them stop or running off to get away from them. He'd thought it would pass. Apparently not.

Madison turned towards him, a gorgeous smile on her face. "Happy to be home?" She said mockingly. "Dear?"

William gave her a look, a warning not to start with him right now. He got up and dragged Ephraim off his sister; he was pulling her hair while she thrashed at him with her hands, trying to scratch him.

"Enough!" He bellowed so loud the panes of glass in the window shook.

Eve and Ephraim stopped fighting, looking at him with wide eyes. He hadn't yelled at them like that in a long time.

William turned to his son. "You're buying your own damn headlights and your sister a new phone!"

"But –" Ephraim began.

"I don't want to hear it!" William shouted and turned to Eve. "You're paying your own fees and getting your brother a new phone, too!"

"But, daddy, how am I – "

He cut her off, too. "Get a job! Both of you get a damn job and pay for it all yourselves! I'm not a bank!"

Both of them looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

"Apologize to each other!" William commanded.

Eve crossed her arms and turned away, Ephraim doing the same.

"Did, uh…did you, um, get some new furniture, Madison?" Sam asked quietly, looking around.

Madison glared at him.

"This chair's comfy," Sam mumbled.

"Go upstairs and go to bed!" William shouted at his children.

They both got up, and he heard the stomping all the way up the stairs, down the hall, and the doors to their rooms slam.

Sam stood up and went over to Eve's phone, picking it up. "Just the battery fell out," he said. "I might be able to fix it."

Madison stood up, drunkenly swaying from side to side. "You don't want to be here," she said, her words all running together. "You'd rather be all cuddled up with your whore sister."

William grit his teeth. "Don't call her that."

"Eve?" Sam said, looking at her phone case with her name scrawled all over it in sparkly letters. "That's Eve?" He pointed to the stairs.

William forgot he was even here, but Sam had seen this all before. Worse, actually. "Yeah."

"I thought she was older," Sam said, looking puzzled.

"No, they're triplets. They're the same age." William went to retrieve Sam's coat. "I'll drive you to the train station."

"No, that's okay," Sam held up his hands. "I like the cold air." He set down Eve's phone and got into his coat. "I'll see you Monday. Good luck." He patted William on the shoulder before he walked out.

William looked over at Madison, still swaying as she stood there, giving him the most hateful look he'd ever seen.

"Just say it," she growled. "You'd rather be with her."

He would. But he wasn't about to say that to her right now. "Come on. You should go to bed, too."

"I'm not going anywhere with you! I want a divorce!"

William sighed. "We already did that. I left. All you have to do is sign - "

"I'm not signing anything!"

"Then don't," William looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed for a reason he couldn't explain. "Things will just stay like this."

She came over to him, stumbling a little as she walked. "I'm leaving you," she said. He could hardly understand her. "I'm leaving you, and I'm taking the children with me!"

He carefully took her by the arm. "Come on. I'll help you get into bed."

She tried to pull her arm away, but not hard enough. He helped her all the way up the stairs and into her room. A room they used to share. He took the mug from her so she'd quit sloshing whiskey everywhere. She said all the things to him she always did; as if she completely forgot in her intoxicated state that she'd said them before and how those arguments had led to this.

He helped her take off her shoes and clothes as tears starting spilling down her cheeks leaving a black line of watery eyeliner and mascara dripping from her chin. He couldn't understand what she was saying, but he was sure it was about how terrible he was and how much she hated him.

He pulled her to her feet so he could help her get her nightgown on. He got a tissue and gently wiped the black tears from her cheeks. She looked at him as he did so, her eyes searching his.

"Why did you marry me?" She said it clearly, as if she were completely sober. She'd asked him this before, usually in a rage, in the middle of a fight.

He didn't answer.

"You didn't love me at all, did you?" Her voice was still as clear as ever.

He tossed the tissue in the trashcan, sat her down on the bed, and got on his knees in front of her. "I did. I still do."

She clumsily put a hand against his cheek. He didn't know how long they sat there like that, staring at each other, words just on the tip of his tongue, words he wished he could say and believe were true.

"You need help," he whispered. "Please let me take you somewhere. They can give you something for the detox. I can -"

She grunted at him and turned away, laying down in her bed. He sighed and helped her get under the covers. He turned off the lamp and went to leave the room.

"Stay," she said.

He stopped and thought about it for a second. He took of his shoes and got into the bed beside her, laying on top of the covers. She turned on her side, her back facing him, and he curled up behind her, putting one arm around her.

He lay there with her until her breath slowed to the rhythm of sleep. He thought about what she'd asked him, a question she'd asked him many times and he never answered: why did he marry her?

Laying there behind her, in the early morning hours of that cold, dark night, he answered her question:

"I just wanted to forget."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2049_

 _4:13pm_

Emily looked out of the window of the car.

She thought she might see a flash of the sickly green siding of her mother's house just a couple of kilometers away through the bare trees. They were coming down a mountain, winding around ridges, and the curves made Emily a little queasy.

"Can you slow down a little bit?" She said to Marcus.

He lightly pressed the brakes. "Sorry. It's not like this where you live."

It would have been faster by train. There was a lot of traffic on the roads this time of year, even though the efficiency and cost of the railway system was preferable over a vehicle. At the time of the transition, there were 400 million cars on the road in North America. It was only about a quarter of that number now. The NAU purposely put a large chunk of tax money into building and maintaining the railway system and very little into highways to encourage people to drive less. Even hybrid and electric car owners were giving them up to use the railway. It was just a better way to travel.

Emily and Marcus chose to drive because getting here by car meant less walking in the cold, dreary evening. This place, where the majority of the Old Republicans lived, was the dark, unattended armpit of the Union. Emily didn't know why most of them lived here or how they'd ended up along these mountains and ridges to begin with. They lived in houses, trailers, and cabins nestled in hollows, up steep roads, and in rural, forgotten parts of the East Region. Their houses were a century old or more, with equally ancient plumbing and wiring that, if faulty, took Union contractors weeks or months to properly fix. Even then, Old Republicans had to pay for any repairs out of their pension.

But Emily's mother was very resourceful. She fixed everything herself. She could fix leaking pipes, re-wire outlets, and patched leaks on her roof all the time. She had a generator she shared with her neighbors if the solar power, coming from cells perched on a mountain ridge, went out. It happened quite a bit. Emily had seen her mother with a tool belt, walking off to help one of her neighbors fix a pipe or dig up a septic tank. She didn't hesitate at all to descend into cellars or wiggle through crawl spaces. She never seemed afraid of the unknown. At least there was some community; at least they were still willing to help each other with those things.

Emily watched the depressing landscape go by and felt herself sinking into despair with it. It was always so cloudy here, especially this time of year; snow and ice storms keeping people stranded in their homes. She observed the leafless birches, maples, and oaks, their branches coming up from the mountain sides like dry, scraggly hair on a giant's head. Once they passed by the New River, she knew they were halfway there. The New River used be the only river on the whole continent that flowed in the wrong direction – north. Now, for some unexplainable reason, the Colorado and Mississippi Rivers had also changed direction, flowing north, too.

The presents they brought for her shifted in the backseat, as they took another winding curve, descending into the hollow. Usually, Emily and her mother exchanged Christmas gifts in January. They always did it late, because Emily was usually on-call. She'd put in her request to be taken off the list in October just so she could have this time with her mother uninterrupted.

Especially since she and Marcus were going to tell her they were getting married.

Marcus' hands gripped the steering wheel from nerves as they got closer. Emily put her hand over his, trying to calm him down. He was afraid her mother would be upset, but why would she be? She liked Marcus. Emily didn't see any reason at all why her mother would be upset about them. Her mother would probably be relieved that Emily was having a more…normal and appropriate relationship.

Emily was feeling a little apprehensive herself, though. Not about her and Marcus but about what Esther had told her.

Emily hadn't recognized her at first with all those piercings in her face and the pink in her hair. Emily hadn't seen the girl in a long time. She'd always been very nice to Mary, and Emily hoped Mary would be a good influence.

But Esther never let anyone influence her.

"Help me!" Esther had cried, then came right inside the house like she was being chased.

"What are you doing here?" Emily had said, fearfully looking outside, and half expecting someone with a gun to come rushing up on the porch.

"You have to help me! You have to believe me! Mary saw things, too, right? Did they float around like ghosts? Did their eyes turn black?" Esther was babbling on and on, grabbing Emily's arms, as Emily tried to sit her down and calm her.

"Esther, slow down! I don't know what you're talking about."

"I swear I saw him! I don't have altitude sickness! I saw him! And there was this electric feeling like static and he came on the plane before everyone else and I talked to him and I didn't want to show him the lounge because he was being annoying and I really just wanted to kick him off but –"

"What's going on?" Marcus came out of the bedroom.

Esther looked over at him. "Who are you?"

Emily looked at Marcus, too. "Can you give us a minute?"

Marcus glanced outside. "Should I go out there?"

Emily wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway. Marcus put on his boots, got his gun, and went out the door.

"Who is that?" Esther asked again. "Where's dad?"

"He's at your mother's house. Your brother and sister are home."

"Of course. Another withdrawal from the National Bank of Dad," she said bitterly. "Who is that man?" Esther pointed to the door.

Emily could feel her face flushing. "A, um…a friend."

Esther raised an eyebrow. "A _friend_?"

Emily ignored Esther's look and went into the kitchen. "I'll make some coffee."

"Do you have anything stronger?"

"Stronger than coffee?"

"Vodka? Absinthe? Rum, maybe?" Esther came into the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

"We don't drink," Emily replied, filling the coffee pot with water.

"We?"

Emily ignored Esther's shrewd smile. "I have coffee or tea. Which one?"

"Coffee, I guess."

Esther was quiet for a minute as Emily made some and took two mugs from the cabinet.

"Does Mary know?" Esther asked.

"No," Emily filled the mugs and brought them to the table. "I want to tell her face-to-face, okay? Please keep it a secret for now."

Marcus came back inside just then. "I didn't see anything." He announced.

Esther just stared at him. Emily felt embarrassed, and she didn't even know why.

Marcus stood there for a second. "I'll just, um…," he pointed to the bedroom. "I'll, uh…," he quickly walked off.

Esther smiled again and gave Emily a wink. "Not bad."

Emily sighed. "Tell me again. Slower this time."

Esther told her everything. What the man looked like, every detail, the odd feeling he gave her, and how no one had seen him except her. It made Emily nervous. She'd had the exact same feeling inside the Memorial, except she hadn't seen anyone like Esther described.

"Didn't Mary see something like that before?" Esther asked. She was getting jittery from the coffee. "Did Mary see men like that when she was little?"

"No, not like that. And they went away. She never saw them again."

Esther finished her third cup of coffee, her hands shaking. "But you believe me, right?"

Emily nodded.

"Is it because…," Esther paused there for a few seconds, like she didn't really want to ask. "Is it because of…what we are?"

"I don't know."

Esther looked at Emily, running her eyes around her face. "But you're different. Mary is, too."

"Yes." Emily sat back in the chair. If Esther asked her to explain it, Emily wouldn't know how to. She knew of only one person that could.

Esther ended up staying the night and sleeping until the early afternoon. Emily drove her back to her apartment, promising she'd find out from her mother what that man was, and making sure Esther wouldn't mention Marcus to anyone yet. Emily wanted to tell her mother and daughter herself.

Emily had two things to ask her mother about now. She didn't want to discuss both those things with her mother. This was supposed to be a happy visit. So, Emily was trying to decide which was more important: Gibson Praise or a floating man with black eyes.

When they pulled into the driveway finally, Marcus kept the car running. "I think I should go up to that store we passed. Get her some food. They get a lot of snow here, and she might not be able to get out for a few days."

"She has plenty of food," Emily replied, turning off the ignition. "She's always prepared. Why is this bothering you so much? I've never seen you like this."

Marcus looked over at her. He was a Lieutenant in the South Guard, a position he got by being fearless, honorable, and pragmatic. That wasn't what she saw sitting next to her. He was genuinely afraid.

"If you're having second thoughts," Emily began. "About us, then -"

"No, that's not it." He interrupted. "That's not it at all." He took her hand in his, looking intensely into her eyes. "I love you more than anything in this world. I'd give my life up for you. For Mary, too."

Emily felt her face flush. He'd said this to her before. A warm memory flashed in her mind of a night they'd spent together, a night she never wanted to end, a night when everything between them changed.

"But you're Dana Scully's daughter," he said. " _Dana Scully_. And I'm Walter Skinner's son. Doesn't something about this, about you and me, seem...seem like," he searched for the right words.

"Like what?"

"Purposeful?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's like we…it's like we're completing…something. I don't know how to else to say it."

Emily didn't really know how to say it either, but she understood him now. At times, it felt like what was between them started long before they were born. Long before they'd ever laid eyes on each other; something that began and was left unresolved.

"It's just important to me that she's happy for us," Marcus said. "Really and truly happy. Not just because of who we came from, but for who we are now. Does that make sense?"

Emily looked into his eyes; eyes filled with worry rather than their default grumpiness. She took both of his hands in hers; hands that held her, touched her, calmed her, and gently caressed her when they made love. She leaned over to kiss him, then pulled away to look into his eyes again.

"Perfect sense," she replied.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _12:01am_

"Five…four…three…two…one! Happy New Year!"

The ball, lit up so bright it could probably be seen from the ISS, blazed 2050 from the broadcast in the Center. The famous ball-drop in Times Square ended after Hurricane Sally. Half of the legendary city was still flooded. It was all one giant block of ice this time of year.

Mary turned to Leonard. "Happy New Year."

He turned to her and kissed her deeply. "Happy New Year. And all the happiest years of our lives together."

Mary cuddled up to him, sighing happily that he was here, and thinking that this would be the year they would become parents. She tried to remember what she was doing this time last year. She'd probably already been in bed, no one to spend New Year's Eve with, and not wanting to think about it.

"Happy New Year!" The SRP said, putting one arm around Mary and holding up her glass of champagne with the other.

Mary frowned at her and fought the urge to push her away. "Happy New Year."

Mary looked around the room at the weirdest New Year's gathering she'd ever been to, even though she hadn't been to that many. She watched Nathan and Linda clink their glasses together out on the patio, barely taking their eyes away from the beach. Sasha was probably running up and down it, trying to catch herself a meal.

She saw Gibson sitting in the corner, slouching down in his chair, looking depressed. Nurse Owens was beside him, a big smile on her face as she sipped her champagne. Mary's eyes settled on the SRP, sitting on the other side of her. She thought about how much she'd like to throw her out into the ocean.

Mary turned to see if Samantha was still in her bed. Mary had bought her a bed meant for large dogs as her Christmas present, but Samantha's girth burst out of the sides when she coiled up inside it. She raised her head for a second, then set it back down to sleep.

Mary had hoped the sight of a python would keep the SRP away, and Mary had begrudgingly told Samantha she couldn't eat the SRP.

But not at first.

Mary had smiled pleasantly at the SRP from the doorway as she stood out front, swearing more than Mary had ever heard anyone swear before.

"Where did you get a goddamned python?!" The SRP screamed. "I've fought and fought to kill them, and here you have one as a pet? What's the matter with you?!"

"You should probably stay away then," Mary said casually. "This is her home now, and I'm not giving her up."

The SRP swore at her again, then swore at Gibson. "How can you let her keep a python in there? She's pregnant! She can't have a python around newborns!"

Gibson shrugged. "It's a good python." He seemed amused at the SRP's reaction, too. He gave Mary a quick smile, and she smiled back. "She won't hurt you. Mary told her not to."

" _Told_ her? She just told a python not to hurt anyone?"

"Yup."

The SRP stared at him, and then looked back at Mary. "You're playing a joke on me, aren't you?"

Mary looked at Samantha. "Samantha, this is the South Region President, Marita Covarrubias. Go say hello."

Samantha slithered out of the doorway towards the SRP.

"No, no, no, no!" She jumped behind Gibson, using him as a barrier. "Get out your gun!"

"I told you, she won't hurt you." He winked at Mary, and she winked back.

It was a mean thing to do, but Mary couldn't resist. Mary didn't want her to be here, but she was back. Invading and nosing her way into everything again. The SRP had arrived a few days before Christmas and promptly went off with Gibson to search for Dominique. She wasn't at St. Elizabeth's. They found her at a Methodist hospital so far north it was almost in the North Region.

Dominique was in a coma, and her room was barricaded by West Guard. They wouldn't let Gibson and the SRP in to see her, no matter how much the SRP threatened to tell Hosteen about it. Gibson told Mary all of this in little pieces of conversation when he could get away from his assistants and come to the beach house. He tried to keep them busy so they didn't follow him everywhere, but he said the girl, Ava-something, was always bothering him, wanting something to do. He'd given her a mindless project that he told Mary would keep her busy for a while.

Mary had some flowers sent to Dominique's room, but she didn't say who they were from. She wasn't sure who or what her friend was anymore. Thinking about it just made her cry. Everything made her cry now. Even seeing the SRP's reaction to Samantha had made Mary laugh until she was in tears.

Samantha moved around Gibson to the SRP, and she pulled Gibson around in a circle trying to stay behind him.

"You would seriously throw me in front of a python?" He said.

"You said it was a good python!"

"But if it wasn't, and a python was going to attack you, you'd put me right in front of it, wouldn't you?"

"Shut up! I'm the President!"

Gibson moved away from her, and Samantha went towards her, raising her head up to look at her.

The SRP stood there, frozen in fear. "Give me your gun!" Her voice was shaking. "God damn you! Give me your gun!"

"Nope." Gibson crossed his arms.

Mary couldn't stop laughing. She hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. Eventually, she went outside and got the SRP to pet Samantha, to see that she was harmless. But the SRP didn't appreciate Mary laughing at her. Or Gibson either.

It had really been a mean thing to do to her. The SRP's nerves were already in shreds from Kersh, and the attack on Hosteen was making her crazy.

Mary was prepared for her to fuss at her for being alone on the beach where Dominique almost shot her. But she didn't. Mary was pleasantly surprised that Gibson had kept this word; he hadn't told her at all.

The SRP left the beach house that day, demanding Gibson come to the Presidential Hotel so they could talk. They had a lot to talk about. There was too much going on now; too many things to figure out and keep track of.

He hung back for a few minutes. The house was mostly quiet. Nurse Owens was taking a nap, and Linda was sleeping on the couch while Nathan kept watch on the patio. They took turns. Hybrids still needed sleep.

"You didn't tell her," Mary said to him. "Why?"

"Because you didn't want me to."

He looked at her for a long moment; the way he had once before, in a way that made her almost blush.

"I want you trust me," he said quietly. "And you don't."

Mary opened her mouth to reply.

"You don't," he said again. "I can hear it."

Mary did blush then. Because he was right. "How did you explain Nathan and Linda?"

"I said it was a precaution. Hosteen put them here just in case."

Mary nodded. She'd wondered why the SRP didn't seem too concerned about them.

"And it's better for her, anyway. She's under a lot of stress," he sighed. "South Council is going to accept."

Mary felt a knot form in her stomach. "Oh, God..."

"Try not to let it worry you. I know it's nearly impossible, but West and North haven't decided anything yet."

"He's going to win, Gibson," Mary shook her head, a feeling like defeat swelling up inside her. "I'll be the first person he comes after. I tried to kill him."

"But you didn't. He should be grateful you let him go. He wouldn't be here now."

"My grandmother wouldn't be in danger now."

"Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? He's far away from here. He's not coming here any time soon. The Presidents will meet with him in the Center first."

Mary really wanted to sit down, but Linda was laying on the couch. She sat in one of the armchairs and Gibson sat beside her.

"You ran off the other day when I mentioned Sarah Clinton. You know she was talking about me and why, don't you?"

Gibson didn't answer. He looked down at his feet.

"You said you wanted me to trust you."

"I do," he looked over at her. He held Mary's gaze for so long, she almost thought...she couldn't really even explain what she thought. Why does he look at her that way?

"I do want you to trust me," he said, looking away from her. "But there are some things I can't tell you about. Maybe I can later. But I can't right now."

"What is she?" Mary asked.

"Who?"

"Sarah. What is she? Which kind is she?"

"She isn't."

Mary looked down at her hands. "Well, if you have to hide things from me, then fine. I don't know why, but…okay. Can you answer one thing for me, though?

"What?"

"Is someone going to take our children away?"

He didn't flinch. His expression didn't change. "No."

Mary waited to see if he would look away or shift uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't.

Relief flooded through her just then. She hadn't realized how much she'd been afraid of that. That someone, Sarah Clinton or anyone else, wanted to take her children from her. Mary felt like she and Leonard could protect them, but they had to keep each other safe, too. It was hard enough being away from him for any length of time before. It was even worse now with this new threat hanging over their heads.

The feeling of relief consumed her so much, a few tears leaked out of her eyes. "Nathan and Linda told me there's a bad kind. Or a misled kind. They don't want me and Leonard to have children. I don't know who they are or how they found out about me and him to begin with. They can do whatever they want to me, but I can't let them hurt Albert or Melissa. Or him. I don't know what I'd do without him."

Gibson was quiet, looking at her.

Mary stood up to go find a tissue. "He asked me to disappear with him. To go somewhere else with him. Maybe we should. If that's the only way all of us can be safe."

Gibson stood up and came over to her. "Is that what you really want?"

"I don't know," Mary wiped her eyes. Every little thing seemed to make her cry now. "I feel like I'd be abandoning people. My mother. My grandmother. Simon's grandmother. I don't want to leave them behind to deal with a problem that's all my fault."

Gibson looked at her closely, his voice even and calm. "If that's ever something you wanted to do, you and him, then I'll help you."

Mary looked up at him.

"I'll make sure no one finds you and him. Or any of your children."

Mary began to feel the way she did that night out in the hallway, when he told her she wasn't a mistake. That she wasn't shameful.

For some reason, that prompted more tears.

Gibson came closer to her and put his arms around her, pulling her over to him. She hesitated for only a second before she let him hug her and she hugged him back. She really needed a hug right now, and she was surprised at how she felt in that moment. She was surprised at how being in his arms like that almost made her want to stay there.

"Please trust me," he whispered to her. "I'll do anything to help you. Anything to keep you safe."

She heard something in his voice she'd never heard before. She could tell he meant what he was saying; that he really would do anything to keep her safe. She really wanted to trust him, and she knew he could hear how much she wanted to in her thoughts.

Mary pulled away from him, and wiped her eyes again. "Okay," she nodded. "Okay, I will."

* * *

Gibson slumped down in the chair, watching Mary and Hosteen, barely noticing the numbers glow on the TV screen.

2050.

He never thought he'd live this long, and if he did, he'd be wrinkled and grey-haired by now. But here he was, alive and frozen in time. A survivor. A political leader.

Also, the loneliest he'd ever been in his life.

He could tell Mary didn't want the SRP sitting next to her or for her to be there at all. She'd kind of invited herself. He did, too, really. There wasn't any place else he wanted to be, and if he wanted to be here he was going to have to see it: Mary Scully and Leonard Hosteen completely and madly in love with each other.

"Happy New Year, Glissen!" Nurse Owens giggled at him.

He wondered how much champagne she'd had.

"Happy New Year," he muttered.

He looked at his glass of champagne and wished he had a whole bottle. He really wanted to be drunk right now.

After this, he was going back to the Presidential Hotel with the SRP to argue. It could potentially be their worst one ever. She'd been avoiding him since she'd arrived, spending hours talking to Hosteen in closed meetings, presumably about Kersh, and wouldn't let the topic of Sarah and Brittany Clinton come up. They were going to talk about it tonight, however. Whether she liked it or not.

From what she had discussed with him, it sounded like the West Council wasn't going to accept Kersh. They never accepted anyone that wasn't Tribal Party. The other three Councils and everyone in the country expected it. But Kersh's promises to clean up the Atlantic Ocean could change things. Hosteen nor Covarrubias knew for sure just yet.

Gibson watched Mary with Hosteen, their arms around each other, talking quietly, making plans. Planning for the family they were going to have, one that would begin this very year.

At least Gibson knew what it was like to have Mary in his arms now.

Every time he thought about that day, and he thought about it a lot, his heart ached so much. It ached for her. He hadn't planned to hug her. He just did it. It was an impulse. A weakness, too. Yet another instance of when his feelings clouded his judgement.

He'd been worried when he hugged her that he was going to say it. It was right there; the words crowding into his mouth, ready to slip out. Everything about her, every amazing thing about her, from saving pythons from death and doing everything she could to protect her children, caused a wave of emotions that threatened to drown him. And then feeling his arms around her and hers around him, the scent of her, the warmth of her, he really thought he was going to tell her. He really thought he wouldn't be able to hold it inside him anymore.

But he knew if he did, it wouldn't change anything. He would have just embarrassed himself.

Allowing himself have that little moment with her, to be as close as they were, as friendly and comforting as she perceived it to be, made this situation much worse for him. At least she trusted him now. He had that. He'd rather have her trust than nothing at all.

Gibson glanced over at Samantha coiled up in her bed. The merry-making didn't seem to be disturbing her sleep. He and Mary also had laughing at the SRP together. He smiled a little and looked over at Mary, hoping to catch her eye.

But only one person in this world caught her eye.

Gibson got up and went out onto the patio. Nathan and Linda looked over at him, giving him a nod. He nodded back and went to stand on the other side away from them. He wanted to be alone, but not completely alone. He couldn't really see the waves until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but he could hear them. It was serene. A sound that calmed him a little.

He had Mary's trust, even though he'd lied to her a little bit.

Someone did want to take her children away, but he wasn't going to let them. Once he found a safe place for them, either with Dana Scully or Monica Reyes, because Scully would likely move to the West, he would tell Mary about all of it. Everything he knew he would tell her. For now, however, he had to keep that to himself.

Gibson took out his phone and wondered if he should send Scully a Happy New Year text. She was all alone right now. How did she feel about watching all these years pass by right in front of her? How did she feel about looking like she did in the year 2050? And without Mulder?

He put his phone back in his pocket and allowed himself to indulge in the thoughts about what he wanted to happen after he hugged Mary. It was a fantasy that played out in his mind each night before he fell asleep. A fantasy in which Leonard Hosteen didn't exist, and Gibson was who she wanted.

He became so lost in it, he didn't see Linda when she came over to him and stood beside him.

"Happy New Year," she said with indifference.

Gibson said the same. He thought Linda would say something else, but she thoroughly scanned the coastline instead.

She turned to him after a few minutes. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"What does?" Gibson gave her a quizzical look.

"Loving someone you can't have. It sucks."

Gibson knew his face was starting to turn red, but it was too dark outside for her to see it.

Linda gave him a weak smile. "I was there. I was laying on the couch."

Gibson turned away, uncomfortable. He took a long drink from his glass of champagne.

Linda didn't say anything else.

"I'm going back inside," he mumbled.

She turned to him again. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you."

"Well…"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that's noticed, if that makes you feel any better."

Gibson didn't go inside. He stood there and took another drink. Should he go in and find an unopened bottle? Or a couple of them?

"There isn't much you can do about it," Linda continued. She wasn't really looking at him. She kept her eyes on the beach. "You can take my word for it, too. I'm ninety-three. I know everything now."

Gibson listened, not wanting to say anything. He really didn't think it was that obvious, and on any other day it wouldn't have been. But that day, he temporarily lost control.

"Girls always want the guy that will do anything for them, you know?" Linda adjusted the gun strapped around her. "A man that will worship the ground she walks on, sweep her off her feet, all those clichés."

Gibson looked at his glass. It was almost empty now.

"It's always right in front of her face, and she either won't or can't see it." Linda paused. "Guys are like that, too. They want something from a woman, it's always in front of them, and they never see it."

Gibson turned to look at her.

"I've been exactly where you are. Many times. It happens to everyone at some point." She paused again. "I think there's only one thing that helps."

"What?" He asked quietly.

She gave him a tiny smile. "Alcohol."

He smiled back, raised his glass, and drank the rest of the champagne.

"Seriously, though," she turned to look at him now. "It has to be him. I know you don't want to hear that, but it has to be. They're the same. Two lost fishes in a giant sea that found each other." She smiled at him kindly. "Doesn't mean you won't find yours."

Gibson nodded and took out his phone. He had a text message, but he didn't open it.

"Where's yours?" Gibson asked. "Your fish."

"Dead. I've been a widow for seventeen years now."

"He wasn't like you?"

"No," Linda turned to look inside. "From what I understand, it was like that with her grandparents." She nodded at Mary. "I know how her grandmother feels. To have to keep on living without the person you love; that was meant for you, made for you, and you for them."

Gibson was embarrassed to feel his eyes tearing up. He turned back to face the ocean and thought about what Linda said. He stood very still, breathing in the air of this New Year, air that tasted salty but clean, air that felt nice against his skin. He looked out at the Pacific and thought about Linda's allegory. About being lost in a giant sea, looking for a companion, a counterpart, and what it must feel like to find it.

Gibson wanted Mary to be that person. He wanted to be that person for her. But that position was taken.

He looked down at his phone again, thinking he should send Scully a text. It was three in the morning over there now. Maybe she'd see it when she woke up.

Gibson saw the unread text again. When he opened it, he didn't recognize the number. At first he thought it was Byers sending him something snarky to start off the year. He opened the message.

 _I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year. I hope you have the best year ever! – A_

A? Then he realized who it was: Ava. He had Ava's and Liam's numbers stored in his phone, but she apparently wasn't sending this through her government-issued one.

Gibson took a few seconds to think about a reply, and sent it before he went back inside.

 _Thank you. I hope so for you, too._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _2:44am_

Ava stood outside of the door and listened to President Covarrubias and Gibson Praise.

She'd stayed down in the lobby of the Presidential Hotel waiting for them to come back. All of Covarrubias' aids and Liam were down in the ballroom getting drunk or they'd gone to bed. Ava dutifully had only one beer when the ball dropped, then posted herself in the lobby. This probably wasn't necessary, but she felt like as long as he was awake and about, she should be, too.

When Covarrubias and Gibson did come back, they blew right past her, in the middle of a shouting match, completely unconcerned with drawing attention to themselves.

"I have _always_ been honest with you!" Covarrubias shouted. "I've _never_ lied to you! Not once!"

"I didn't say that!" Gibson shouted back. "But you're keeping things from me! Important things! Why do _you_ get to decide what I should know and when?"

Ava got up and followed them, checking to make sure no one else was around. A bass thumped from inside the ballroom, the New Year's Eve celebration still raging strong.

"You've never questioned me before now!" Covarrubias stopped and pointed at him. "Something's changed. And I _know_ it isn't on my end!"

Ava opened her mouth to say something, to let them know she was there.

"Everything's changed!" Gibson yelled. "And we're responsible for it! You put this on me! I didn't ask you for it! I deserve to know everything you know! All of it!"

"Excuse me," Ava said meekly. "Madam President?"

Covarrubias didn't hear her. " _That's_ what's changed! All this entitlement you have now!" She opened her arms wide as if to show how much. "And you know what? You have _none_! Zero!"

"You said you wanted me to be your friend? To promise to stay by your side when everything goes to Hell? You remember that? How can you expect that from me when you give me _nothing_?!"

Ava flinched at the volume of Gibson's voice. It seemed to shake the walls. She stepped back a little bit. She had no idea what they were fighting about, but to be this angry with each other…it had to be something personal and not political.

Ava had heard about rumors about them arguing before she was sworn in. She'd also heard other rumors about them.

Covarrubias stood there looking at him, the anger seeming to drain out of her as she slouched her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her. "I don't want us to be like this, Gibson." Her voice was quieter. "Let's go upstairs. I want to fix this." She took a step towards him. "Okay?"

Ava was beginning to think those other rumors were true. She wouldn't be surprised. Marita Covarrubias was simply stunning, scars or no scars. Ava looked her over, wearing a simple black dress, a decorative belt around her waist, her blonde hair pulled back in a French twist. She was a beautiful woman. Probably used to be a model. Gibson didn't look half-bad either. She especially liked his eyes and those broad shoulders. For a second, she imagined gripping onto them as he positioned himself on top of her. She felt her heart begin to race.

The rage drained out of Gibson, too. He looked down at his feet. "Okay. Let's fix it."

Ava quickly cleared her throat.

They turned to look at her.

"Madam President," Ava said. "Mr. Secretary, sir. I just wanted to make sure someone was here when you got back. In case either of you needed anything. It seems everyone else is…occupied." She gestured to the ballroom.

They continued to stare at her.

"But, um…I guess if there's nothing you need, I'll head to up my room."

"Thanks," Gibson gave her a tired smile. "Thanks for waiting up, but we're fine."

Ava quickly shuffled past them, pleased by his smile, to the elevators, but she didn't go to her room. She waited until she heard them come up on the floor, too, and go into the SRP's suite.

She'd been outside the door ever since, trying to hear what they were saying and if they were really "fixing" anything.

She wasn't supposed to be doing this. Not just for the obvious reasons, but she'd been told not to conduct her surveillance in this manner. It was supposed to be passive, surface-level. She was supposed to just report what she'd actually seen and heard. That was it. No digging.

But Ava wanted to dig just a little bit. Otherwise, she'd get very bored with all this.

Ava didn't actually know the person she was working with. Or working for, rather. She'd never met them. In fact, she'd never heard their voice before. She had no idea if they were male or female. All communication with them came through text messages and always from a different number. Or no number at all.

They'd warned Ava if she tried to look up the number, trace it, or call it back, she'd regret it.

So, Ava did it anyway.

Then very much regretted it.

She had to buy a new phone because her old one had been bombarded with viruses and malware, completely shutting it down. Whoever this person was, they were not playing around. Ava thought at first it might not be a person at all. Intelligence used AIs to interact with criminals over the Internet. Ava thought this was an AI created to recruit and instruct people like her. When Ava asked, the response she got was: _Call me that from now on._

So, "AI" wasn't an AI, but she didn't really care who it actually was. For a while she thought it was Gibson's predecessor, James Byers. But he'd resigned because he had brain cancer. There was no reason for him to want to screw around with this Administration. Also, this individual didn't seem paranoid or crazy like he was. Not the type to chase people with chainsaws and look at pornography all the time. AI seemed very calm, organized, and even polite on some occasions.

AI also told her to be aware of what she was thinking when she was around Gibson Praise. She thought that meant he was a hybrid. She wasn't one herself, but she had friends that were. AI informed her that Gibson's ability was limited, but she should make sure she never thought about any of this whenever she was around him. When she asked AI if he was a hybrid, she never got an answer. She guessed Gibson had to be some kind of hybrid or have one of them in his ancestry somewhere.

Ava would do whatever AI asked her to. Her retirement fund was growing and her debts were disappearing. And, for some reason, she was drawn to things like this. The urge to do so seemed to be in her blood.

"What are you doing?"

Ava startled at the sound of Liam's voice. He came down the hall quietly, looking at her curiously. "That's a secure room." He pointed to the symbol on the door.

Ava flipped around her badge. "And we're cleared for it." She pointed to the list of security level symbols they were approved for on the back.

He looked at her critically. "So? It doesn't mean we can be nosy."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm just making sure they're not fighting or I'm here if they need anything."

"Where are all her people at?" He looked around the hallway.

Ava shrugged. "Partying their asses off. I thought that's where you were?"

"Yeah, but I get kind of annoyed with drunk people. I can only take so much."

"Don't talk so loud." Ava put her ear to the door again. "I can't tell if they're fighting."

Liam grinned. "Or they're making up after a fight."

Ava tried to look disgusted, but she smiled, too.

Liam leaned back on the wall across from the door and whispered, "I can understand her, though. She's pretty, but like classy pretty. Like Grace Kelly pretty. Him, though?"

Ava was still smiling. She looked over at Liam and shrugged.

"Oh my God, really?" Liam shook his head. "Didn't you see all that stuff about him playing chess?" He nodded to the door. "If they are like that, she probably has to fake it."

Ava smiled again and kept her thoughts about that to herself.

She was still surprised at the kind of person Gibson was, and that he looked far better in person than in the images she'd seen and spent hours analyzing. Maybe he just wasn't all that photogenic. She was expecting a shy, awkward nerd, looking down at her cleavage all the time like he'd never seen a set of boobs before. She thought this task was going to be easy working for someone like that.

She'd looked through all the images of him, at his body language, and noticed the obvious discomfort he felt around people and the media. She also noticed that when he did wear glasses, they were fake. They were not prescription lenses. There didn't seem to be a reason for when he wore them or when he didn't. But they changed his appearance slightly, making him resemble the kid in the video clips. He didn't have a solid handshake either, and he changed it with each person he greeted. She noticed everything. She was good at noticing things; good at reading people, seeing the tiniest of details, listening for tone and implications in people's voices, and brilliant at hiding that she'd seen or heard anything at all.

Before she took her oath and arrived in the West, Ava had assessed Regional Secretary Praise to be massively insecure, introverted, and uncertain about social situations. Observing what he did, who he spoke to, who called him, messaged him, and all the other things she'd been told to look out for were going to be easy.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

She really hoped Gibson and the SRP didn't actually sleep together. Ava didn't want any competition for his attention. Because she was going to get it. _All_ his attention. She was good at that, too. She'd often wondered where or how she'd gotten that ability: to quietly and almost effortlessly pull a man away from another woman. It was a gift she had. Maybe it was genetic.

Meanwhile, she was still trying to figure out Gibson's phone. He'd just handed it to her. She'd been prepared for him to be guarding it, like government officials should be, and she'd have to do something to make him accidentally drop it or leave it somewhere.

But nope. He just handed it to her.

Ava didn't see anything too out of the ordinary when she was deleting all the notifications and removing him from the email lists. Surface-level. That was all she was supposed to do. But, whoops, Ava's finger mistakenly opened up his list of contacts.

She took several screen shots to send to AI. His contact list was arranged alphabetically, like anyone's, but it was a little odd.

It seemed like he put in only the first names of some people and only the last names of others. _Marita. Dominique. Jessinda. As He Stands. Byers. Clinton._ Some she recognized and some she didn't. It also struck her that he chose to put Regional Secretary's Clinton, Alvarez, and As He Stands information in differently. Everyone by last name except for Alvarez.

Maybe he didn't know how to spell it? Why just her first name?

As she scrolled through she began to realize it was based on how close he was to that person. He'd put President Covarrubias in with her first name. Not her full name or her title. That made her wonder how close he was to Jessinda Alvarez. And Dominique. Ava knew now she was the South Guard that attacked President Hosteen. Why just her first name, too? How close was he to her?

When she got to the end she noticed two contacts with simple entries. Just one letter for each: M and S. Their phone numbers were encoded. All the government people had encoded numbers, which meant they never displayed anywhere on the phone; the phone had it "memorized." It was a good technique for security and privacy.

But…who were M and S? Government, too, maybe?

Ava knew that finding that out was far beyond surface-level, but she was going to. Gibson would tell her himself. She estimated that by spring time she would be the one locked up for hours in a room with him, and they wouldn't be fighting. This was a method that AI didn't actually encourage, but they also didn't discourage it either.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the text he'd sent her earlier. It would be the best year ever, and she was going to spend it with him.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _4:45am_

Dominique lay still on the hospital bed. A digital pump beside her monitored the breathing tube in her nose and the mix of drugs and electrolytes coursing through her bloodstream. The metal disk in her throat was lit up, activated by the medical equipment as it fed information about her vitals to the pump.

Her heart rate on the monitor ticked upwards as her body shuddered. It twitched again as a black, viscous liquid began to spill out of her ears, nose, and eyes. It pooled onto the floor, the separate drips combining into one large, black puddle.

The puddle moved towards the corner of the room, towards the man standing there with a long, black beard and glowing blue white eyes. The puddle stopped at his feet, seeped into his shoes, then into his skin until it was all gone.

He stood by Dominique for a minute, assessing the equipment. He looked at each one, shutting it down, and watched the disk in her throat go out. He carefully removed the needle from her arm, and pulled the tube as gently as he could out of her nose.

He picked her up in his arms and stood by the door until he heard the thud of the bodies of the two West Guards just outside it collapse onto the floor. He stared at the door until it opened, and slowly stepped over the Guards, making sure not to knock Dominique's head against the door frame.

As he walked down the hallway of the hospital, nurses and other staff he passed by lost consciousness and fell to the floor. He was glad it wasn't too many this time of morning. They would wake up later and remember nothing.

He continued until he was outside of the Seventh United Methodist Hospital, walking across the brightly lit parking lot to another man waiting by his car.

Jemaine As He Stands quickly walked over to the bearded man as he passed Dominique's body over to him.

As He Stands looked down at her. Her breath was shallow and she felt a little feverish, but she was safe now. He would keep her safe. He would never take another moment with her for granted.

"If you break a promise with me," the bearded man said. "Then you break a promise with all of us."

As He Stands was worried that she felt lighter. He didn't know how long it had been since she'd actually had any real food in her.

"What will she remember?" As He Stands asked. "Will she remember all of it?"

"She might. Maybe not all at once."

"How long before she wakes up?"

"A couple days maybe. Keep her hydrated and warm. She'll be completely healed within a month."

As He Stands nodded at the man, and turned to his car.

"Our lives are short," the man said. "But our memories are long. And if I know your face, we all know it. Understand?"

As He Stands turned to look back. "I understand."

He carefully lay Dominique across the backseat and put a blanket over her. When he got in the driver's seat, he saw the bearded man had disappeared.

He cut on the engine and drove away.


	29. Chapter 29

_Honduras_

 _San Pedro Sula_

 _2008_

 _3:23pm_

Emily walked into the cathedral and set her books in the last pew.

The fabric of her dress stuck to the perspiration on her back from the heat outside. She pulled at it as she walked up to the front to take out the communion wine and hosts. The heat was almost unbearable this time of year, a sweeping wave in from the Caribbean Sea that hung heavy in the air. She pulled the hair band from her wrist and wound her long coppery hair into a bun to keep it off her neck.

After she was done with her schooling, she was supposed to help get ready for Mass in the morning. She'd gone to public school for only a year, because the nuns didn't like her around other children. Emily was too different with her fair skin and red hair. So, Sister Josephine helped Emily with her math and geography, while Sister Louisa taught her literature and history. They told Emily she was special, and they wanted to protect her. Emily didn't really know what from, but the sisters said there were bad people here that wouldn't hesitate to take her away from them. She'd seen strange men driving around the cathedral and convent, watching her when the sisters took her into town. She didn't know who they were, but the sisters always shielded her from them. Those men looked at her in a way she didn't like; it was a predatory and hungry sort of look.

"Hola, Emily," Father Eduardo called to her from his study.

"Hola, Padre," Emily replied.

He had his television on. Emily glanced inside at the news. The TV had bad reception, and the picture was often messed up, but the sound worked fine. There was an election going on in the United States – it was between a black man and a white man. Emily didn't know why, but the U.S. was fascinating to her. Sister Louisa had only a few books on U.S. history, but Emily had read all of them. She wanted to travel there when she was older and see the Statue of Liberty. Maybe even the White House, where the new President would live. She could have learned much more if she had access to the Internet, but the nuns told her reading from books was good enough.

Emily pulled the wine from the cabinet and set out the chalices. She pulled out the basket of hosts for Father Eduardo to bless, when she heard a sound outside. It was the high-pitched screeching of wheels.

Sister Louisa came running over to her. "Emily! Ve a tu habitación y escóndete! Debajo de la cama!"

"Por qué?" Emily cried.

"Solo ve, por favor!" Sister Louisa shouted.

Emily turned, knocking one of the chalices to the floor, the metallic clank echoing in her ears as she ran up the stairs to her room. She heard shouting from men and the voices of Sister Josephine, Sister Louisa, and Father Eduardo as she shut the door and slid the chain across. Emily went under her bed, all the way to the corner against the wall, and hugged her knees to her chest. Then she crawled out and reached onto her bed for her blue elephant and pulled it close to her as the shouting continued.

She'd been instructed to do this before if the bad men ever came here. Her bedroom was the only one with a chain on it. When Emily asked the sisters why, they only told her that she was growing up into a beautiful young lady; a beautiful young lady could find herself in trouble in this country if she wasn't protected.

She thought she heard an unfamiliar male voice demand something about a girl. She couldn't really hear him, but his tone was threatening, and she knew there were no other girls here except her.

It felt like hours. Hours in which the sounds of her shallow breath and heartbeat in her throat seemed to overpower the voices she heard echoing up from the cathedral. She heard Father Eduardo say something, then there were screams.

Emily plugged her ears with her fingers, but that didn't block out the rapid popping sounds.

It was gunfire.

The screaming stopped.

After a period of silence, Emily took her fingers from her ears. What was happening down there? Slowly, she moved towards the other side of the bed, and then she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

She went back into the corner, cradling the elephant in her arms.

"Hola, chica," a man's voice said. It reminded her of milk after it had soured. "Tenemos lindos vestidos para ti."

Emily clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise. She heard more footsteps on the stairs. Another set stopped in front of a door down the hall. She heard it creak open. She heard two men's voices, low, speaking to one another. What were they saying? Checking the room? This room?

Emily was burrowed into the corner now, holding her stuffed elephant as if it were a shield.

There was a loud rattle as the door to her room opened and caught on the chain. Emily bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

"Hola, chica," the voice said again.

She saw a hand, followed by a wrist, followed by an arm, squeeze its way through the opening in the door and begin tugging at the chain. She quickly forced herself to concentrate until the door pushed back, squeezing the man's arm, and making him yelp with pain. He yanked it free, then began kicking, a loud boom that she thought might burst her eardrums wide open. Another loud kick; there were two now. Two men saying awful things, disgusting and obscene, as they kicked at the door.

Emily waited, her heart thudding in her ears, forcing herself to restrain it, to hold back.

When the chain finally broke and the door flew open, Emily focused all her energy there, until the door snapped back with such force it knocked both men across the corridor against the wall. She heard the crunch of plaster and groans of pain.

"Diablo!" one man shouted. "Diablo!"

There was a shuffle, and then the sound of heavy footsteps retreating down the corridor, down the steps, and then they faded away.

Emily waited.

And waited.

She waited longer still.

The fact that she heard nothing, no familiar voices at all, made her tremble. She cautiously got out from under her bed, grasping her elephant by its trunk. She opened the door only a crack, startled by how loud it was. How many times had she opened and closed this door and never noticed that sound?

She opened it all the way and stood in the threshold to listen.

She heard nothing.

But there was a scent. It was metallic; thick and burning. It wafted like a bee sting to her nose and passed to her tongue so that she could taste it, too. It made her gag.

Still clutching her elephant, she stepped down the stairs slowly, one foot, then the other. She already knew what she was going to see. But she had to see it. She had to know for sure.

At the bottom step, she peeked around the corner. Father Eduardo, was slumped against the wall just outside of his study, blood still spilling from the gash in his throat. Sister Josephine lay on her stomach in front of the altar, as if she were merely praying, deep red dots on her back. Sister Louisa had similar wounds, only she had fallen across a pew, her limp arms hanging down the side.

Emily whimpered. The heat of the day caused her tears to mingle with the sweat on her face. She turned to run back upstairs, but stopped when she saw what was standing up at the top.

It was a man. Or what looked like a man. His eyes glowed. It looked like he had two sets of eyelids, the second set came out of the corners of his eyes when he blinked. She heard what sounded like the snap of bones breaking. Out from his back sprang wings. Black feathered wings that grew larger and wider as they filled the width of the corridor, the ends bending in a little as they came to rest against the walls.

Emily took several steps back as he took one step forward. When he blinked again, his glowing eyes turned completely black, the feathers of his wings swayed in a non-existent breeze.

"El cielo y la tierra permanecen," he said, his voice layered as if it were not just one living inside him.

Emily opened her mouth to scream.

* * *

Emily sat up in her bed, the shriek caught in her throat.

She slowed her breath as she looked around her bedroom, realizing once again where she was and that she'd been dreaming.

Marcus sat up, too. "What?"

Emily shook her head and pulled the blankets closer to her.

"A dream?" He asked.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut.

Marcus pulled her over to him. "The angel?"

"I don't think it was an angel," Emily replied. "It had wings, but it was…it was different this time."

She had this dream every so often and the angelic creature was always a little altered. Sometimes his wings were white. Or red. Or black. Sometimes he had multiple heads, but they weren't human. There would be a sheep. A serpent. Some kind of bird with a long beak. And it wasn't really a man. More like an androgynous figure, but its features were always more masculine than feminine.

"I think it's from what Esther told me," Emily said quietly. "He looked like that."

"The eyes?" Marcus asked softly.

"Yes," Emily got out of bed. "I'm going to get some water."

She could have just gone to the bathroom, but she walked past it into the kitchen. She filled a cup and sat on the couch in the living room. She didn't take a sip from it as she sat there, attempting to push the images of the dream from her mind.

Sister Louisa, Sister Josephine, and Father Eduardo had been killed by men from a human trafficking ring. Had either of them surrendered to those men, Emily was certain she wouldn't be here right now. They'd died to protect her, and even though she should be completely grateful, the gratitude was always mixed in with guilt. They'd taken her in, provided her shelter, took care of her, and all that to just be murdered in cold-blood. As far as Emily knew, the killers were never caught.

Emily looked around the living room, considering turning on the TV; perhaps watch something boring to take her mind off of her dream. Marcus had bought her the type that looked like a plain, rectangular pane of glass when it was off. It hardly weighed anything at all, so she didn't really need his help to hang it up. It obeyed voice commands, too, and all she had to do was tell it what channel or which show she wanted to watch. Her last one had been outdated; the kind with a remote control and too many apps for her to use.

She looked over at the wall it was hanging from. That was the wall that separated her part of the house from William's. She set down the glass of water and went over to it, pressing her hands against it. William wasn't home, but sometimes he would sense her there, and he would stand just on the other side, with his hands against the paneling, too. There were moments when she rested her forehead against it, and she could feel him doing the same.

Thoughts would pass between them. Thoughts they couldn't say out loud; thoughts they couldn't act on. A whole conversation happening quietly in their heads. He was right there. Right on the other side. She could hear every thought in his head, feel his heartbeat and the air fill his lungs. All she had to do was go out her door and into his. It would be so easy. He could do the same. But those moments they spent standing on either side of that wall, reaching out for each other, listening, and feeling, was where it ended. She wondered why God had made them this way. She didn't want to believe that there wasn't something Divine in each of them, even though she was aware of how she'd come into this world.

After a while, she stepped away and went by the front window to look outside. There was a thin, white covering of snow on the lawn lined at the end with black slush from the road.

That's what its eyes had looked like. The angel's eyes looked like black, slushy snow as it froze over into ice.

She swallowed.

But that's not what it had looked like back then, was it? It was just from what Esther had told her, right?

She heard Marcus come out of the bedroom and stand behind her. She could see their faint reflection in the glass; the deep brown skin of his arms wrap around her and his head resting against hers. She remembered the first time he'd held her like this. She'd threaded her fingers through his and pulled him closer, afraid to turn around, knowing what was going to happen when they faced each other, when he looked into her eyes and she looked back.

"I'm alright," she whispered.

"You sure?" he whispered back.

She nodded.

They stood like that for a long time, slowly swaying from side to side. It calmed her. As gruff as his personality was, there were times when he was very gentle. That softness in him had surprised her at first, but she was used to it now. She loved that about him now.

"I'm no expert or anything," he said quietly. "But you only have that dream when you're doubtful about something."

Emily smiled softly. "You sound like an expert."

"That's what dreams represent, though. All the subconscious things coming out." He carefully turned her around to look at her. "Are _you_ having doubts about us?"

"No. Not at all."

He watched her face for a second then smiled. "Well, you can't now. Your mother approves."

Emily smiled back. "I told you she would."

She hadn't mentioned the look on her mother's face, flicking by so quickly Emily wasn't sure it had even happened, just before she smiled and hugged both of them. It seemed for maybe half a second there, her mother was scared. It wasn't shock or surprise; it was fear.

Marcus and Emily told her they were waiting to tell Mary when she came back from the West, when the Guard had another day off and they could talk to her in person. Another look had passed over her mother's face but that one had been less fearful. More…guilty? Embarrassed? It wasn't something Emily had seen before. She wasn't sure how to interpret it, but she hadn't mentioned it to Marcus. Her mother was happy for them. That's what mattered.

"I'm going to try to get back to sleep," Emily said, turning to go back to the bedroom.

He went back with her and they got into bed. Emily lay with her head on his chest, listening to his breath and heartbeat, but her eyes stayed wide open.

After a while, he pulled her closer until her head was under his chin. "What does it say to you again? The angel? The Heavens and the earth?"

She held him tighter, feeling a sudden chill. "Heaven and Earth abides."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _8:36am_

The screen on the right side of the conference room blinked a few times, then Jessinda Alvarez appeared.

Gibson tried to subtly and slowly roll his chair behind the SRP and Hosteen. Jessinda wasn't paying attention to any of them, however. She was speaking rapid Spanish at someone behind the camera and swiping on a tablet on her lap. He couldn't imagine what this was like for her. No ERP meant she was bearing most of the responsibility for the East Region. There were some things Regional Secretaries couldn't do; like sign death warrants, review and approve regional budgets, or make any kind of decision on legislation that affected the whole nation. Still though; Gibson thought she must be exhausted from stretching her limited power to govern.

Running the NAU without four Presidents was a lot like driving a car with only three wheels. A Regional Secretary was like a temporary wheel, a little doughnut, installed when a real one blew out. They could provide just enough stability and mobility to get to a certain point and that was it.

Gibson scooted his chair too far over and ran into As He Stands.

As He Stands frowned at him.

"Sorry," Gibson rolled his chair away from him. "I just, uh, I couldn't see. So…"

As He Stands continued to frown.

Gibson cleared his throat and tried to lean on one of the arm rests that would put him directly behind the SRP. She kept moving around as she tapped on her phone and talked with Hosteen.

As He Stands had finally shown back up. Gibson could hear how upset he was over Dominique. Gibson hadn't been aware of how much As He Stands had grown to care about her. Since coming back, he had been even quieter than before, sitting in corners and brooding, staring off with empty eyes. It really hurt him. Gibson felt sorry for him and tried to talk to him, but what could he say? I'm sorry your girlfriend is an alien that tried to assassinate a President?

The other screen came on with Burns and Sarah in front of it. The sound wasn't on. They were listening to someone off to the side talk to them. They said something to each other, then to the person off camera.

Gibson stared at Sarah, watched her eyes, looking for a sign she might be a hybrid after all and the SRP had lied to him.

But he really didn't think anything the SRP had told him was a lie.

After their blow out in the lobby, with Ava Fowley embarrassingly present for the whole thing, they sat up in the SRP's suite in silence while she downed a glass of vodka, then another one.

She got up to remove her earrings and Gibson waited. What exactly were they fixing? Their trust in each other? The argument they had downstairs? Kersh? Where Mary's children would go? He tried to still his anger over the fact that she was avoiding that last question. There was no reason for her to keep that from him.

"Why is it Sarah?" Gibson asked quietly. He hadn't asked so quietly or calmly before; demanding and shouting at her in the car. "What is she? Is her wife a hybrid?"

The SRP sat across from him. She looked like she did whenever she was thinking about Alex Krycek. Gibson wished he didn't know the details of her relationship with him; personal and sexual details especially. Just like Gibson wished he'd never laid eyes on that man. He'd been a monster. There was no other word for him, and why she continued to love him and think about him after all this time was something Gibson would never understand.

"That," she began. "Is not the immediate problem. Okay?" Her hand shook as she took another drink from her glass. "It's not. Mary is well-protected right now and her twins will be, too. We have until April to iron out the details. We don't have until April when it comes to _him_. When it comes to _him_ leading this country with the rest of us and getting access to things a man like that should never have access to. Okay?" She looked at him forcefully. He could see there were tears forming in her eyes. "I need you." She leaned forward and grabbed one of his hands. "I need you, and you need me, if we are going to get through this."

They really did need each other. And she was right, of course: Kersh trumped everything else.

"We have to trust each other," she continued. "And right this second, I don't think we do. Now tell me: what's changed?"

Gibson was quiet for a minute, then he said, "Mary heard her. Mary heard Sarah talking about her. She was on the phone with someone. It was after you left."

The SRP didn't move and her expression didn't change, then she let go of his hand and sat back.

"Was it you?" He asked. "Was Sarah talking to you?"

She took another drink and got up, going to the other side of the room. She opened up the safe to put her earrings inside it and took off her necklace.

"If Mary and Hosteen think there's someone after their children," Gibson said, "either to kill them or take them away, they will disappear. We won't see them ever again. If you want them to cooperate – "

She spun around suddenly. "That's not it!" She shouted. "Dammit, Gibson! What's changed?! Why are you like this?"

He stood up. "Why don't you tell _me_?!" He shouted back, going across the room to stand in front of her. " _You_ tell _me_ what's changed!"

She was trembling with anger. "What are they paying you?" She spat out. "Hm? Is there a fund?"

He balked. Was she really accusing him of something like that? "Is that really what you think? _Really_? You think I'd do that to you?" He grabbed his blazer from where it was flung on a chair. Childish as it was, he stuck his middle finger up at her. "There's the fund. Right there." He strode angrily to the door.

"She had a drug problem," the SRP called after him, her voice weaker.

He stopped.

"Sarah," the SRP said. "She used to have a drug problem years ago."

He turned his head slightly to show he was listening. He heard her sit down.

"She ran over a dog. Hit it with her car one night when she was all hopped up on something. I don't know what it was she used, but she hit a dog and then just drove off, leaving it there."

Gibson turned around to look at her.

"But someone saw her. Got her license plate number. It was a family dog, too. And she just left it. To keep it out of the courts and her information going public, she had to pay that family off and enter a treatment program."

Gibson went back across the room and sat back down. He was a little shocked. Sarah, with all her beliefs and activism, had killed an animal?

"But she killed another dog after that," the SRP continued. "She had a relapse and one night she shot one that had gotten into her yard. Multiple times. Even after it tried to get away. It was vicious. She said she thought it was an intruder, but I guess whatever she was on was making her see things. She was going to get a criminal status and all her private information would go public. She was going to lose her gun rights and voting rights, too. That family wouldn't take any money."

"How do you know all this?" Gibson asked.

"Donovan intervened and gave her another chance. That time she had to attend a rehab program in the North Region and stay there for a full year. No contact with anyone, not even her family while she was in it. I think it was run by Seventh-day Adventists. They provide limitless marijuana as part of the treatment. I guess it worked. She never used again or killed any more dogs."

"Did she live in the South?" Gibson asked. "How long ago was this?"

She took a sip of her drink. "All that animal rights crap she does is total bullshit. She knows it, and I know it." She shifted in her seat. "Byers does, too. He found all that out and told me about two years ago. I didn't ask him to. Donovan used to have him hack into sealed court records for something. I don't know why. I heard rumors about him having a drug problem, too. But if she doesn't want any of that to go public, because it would ruin her for sure, she does whatever I tell her to do."

Gibson felt sick but also a little impressed. Sarah Clinton was a total fraud, and the SRP was using that against her. He wondered what Sarah's notorious ancestors would think of her. If any of them were still alive, they'd be Dana Scully's neighbors now probably.

"How long have you been blackmailing her?" Gibson asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"It isn't just me," she replied. "People close to Britney know, too. They raise those kids until they're about thirteen, then they're sent to the military academies. By then, they've learned how to control their abilities and disguise what they are."

"But Sarah isn't one of them? What about Britney?"

"They are completely and totally human," she sounded disappointed almost. "When you behave badly in your life, then decide to go into politics, you'd better make damn sure no one can find your skeletons. Sarah didn't. This is what she gets."

Gibson didn't know whether to find this disgusting or necessary. Sarah and Britney were participants, on their side, doing their small part in creating a future full of superior beings that would actually do right by this planet and all its inhabitants.

"Do they all have to go to military school?" Gibson asked thoughtfully. "Shouldn't some of them be educated in certain subjects? Science, math, languages? Maybe clergy so there will be some morality?"

The SRP sighed. "They need to learn to fight for this world. There may come a time when they will have to forcibly take it." She finished her vodka. "You and me, Sarah and Britney, and many others are allies. We'll be remembered. We'll be protected and unharmed if it ever comes to that." She glanced over at him, her look only slightly hateful. "I got us the best life insurance in the Universe."

He looked away from her. Also another reason why he owed her so much; another reason he couldn't abandon her. Ever. He also wondered why she was referring to hybrids as "they" and not "we."

"What does that matter for you?" He asked bitterly. "Nothing can kill you."

She slowly sat forward in the chair, leaning towards him, her glowing eyes fixed on his face. "Your turn."

He thought about what he should say. That Dana Scully and Monica Reyes are involved now? That he's in love with the woman that's breeding the future? That Dominique attempted to harm Mary's twins? That Mary and Hosteen are probably going to disappear anyway and he's going to help? That Byers knew Dominique was missing before he did?

But Gibson didn't say any of those things. He only said two words as he leaned forward in his seat, fixing his eyes on hers.

"Simon Doggett."

* * *

The sound cut on and he could hear Burns and Sarah finally. They were complaining about a group of Micmac that came into the North Region to hunt. The North Council refused to overturn the laws that allowed hunting, especially when it came to Native tribes, and even more especially since they owned more than half the country. The first four Presidents had made it difficult for the NAU to forbid them of anything, but Sarah and Burns felt like hunting in their Region should be banned for everyone, Native or not.

Gibson smirked. It was funny to hear Sarah talk about these things. Maybe she really believed in all this now, but he didn't like the righteousness in her voice. It was as if she believed she alone carried the salvation of every animal on the globe in her hands. He was sure she and Britney were good to those children, but the thought of Mary's twins being raised by someone like her made his stomach turn.

"Are we ready now?" The SRP turned to Hosteen, dread apparent in her voice.

This was a meeting about Kersh. It was just them: the Presidents and Regional Secretaries. No Guards, assistants, or aides present. They were inside the WRP's home, in the SAR, layers upon layers of protection all over the estate. Guards swept the room for bugs two days ago, and now West and South Guards stood at every entrance and window on the property. There were pumas all along the beach, ready to attack, two boats riding up and down the coastline, and helicopters hovering over the area.

West Guard caught a media representative dressed in a red uniform trying to enter the estate last night. All the networks were going to extremes to be the first to find out the results of this meeting, as if it mattered. It was a formality. Even if all of them didn't like Kersh, it only mattered if there was a tie in the Councils. This was what they were going to talk about: if that scenario happened and how they would handle it.

Jessinda snapped her finger and pointed at the door off camera. "Salì! Fuera ahora!"

Gibson noticed the dress she was wearing just then as he saw glimpses of people filing out of the room. It was the very same one she'd been wearing that night; the one he'd taken off her. It unzipped in the back. He'd unzipped it and watched it crumple to the floor. Was she wearing that on purpose?

He leaned on the arm rest again, trying to put the SRP's head in between them so Jessinda wouldn't see him, but she had to know he was there. He leaned too far over and bumped his arm into As He Stands.

As He Stands' frown was even deeper. "Do you think we're dating now or something?" He said coldly. "Move over!"

Gibson mumbled another apology and rolled his chair over.

"Move _over_!" As He Stands repeated, pushing Gibson's chair so it rolled to the other side of the SRP and he was completely visible. He felt like there was a spotlight on him.

Jessinda was still tapping away on her tablet as the room emptied out. Burns and Sarah began telling their assistants, Guards, and aides to leave, too.

Gibson looked over at As He Stands, a bit surprised at his anger. Was this whole thing with Dominique really upsetting him that much?

"All clear?" Hosteen asked.

Burns turned the camera so it panned around to room to show there was no one else there. Jessinda did the same.

The SRP set her phone down and Hosteen did, too.

"Well," Burns began. "I think it's pretty obvious he's going to win. Even if someone decided to challenge him at this point, I doubt the East Council would approve it."

Everyone looked at Jessinda. She didn't move her eyes from her tablet as she spoke. "No challengers, and if there were, I can't make a statement on what the Council would do." She flicked her eyes up at them. "I don't have that kind power." She almost sounded hostile.

"Then we should be talking about what happens after," Burns continued. "Mainly how he's planning on funding this Atlantic project. If there's going to be any kind of tax increase, the citizens up here and in the West won't like it. This doesn't affect them."

The SRP stood up. "Hold on. You don't know yet if he's going to win. None of us do. You're getting too far ahead. We have to decide what to do if the Councils have a tie."

Burns glared at her. "There isn't going to be a tie. North, East, and South will accept. West always declines."

"We don't know that yet!" She replied, looking over at Hosteen, wanting him to agree with her.

"There's always that chance," Hosteen sighed. "Also it's possible he won't get fifty-five percent."

Burns glared at them. "What the hell is with you two? And why are you always together on everything?" He pointed at them, jabbing at the air. "You can't be doing this shit, leaving me out of things, and you sure as hell won't be doing it when he's elected! There's _four_ of us!"

"You don't remember him at all, do you?" The SRP asked. "He's an Old Republican, Julian. You signed his death warrant."

Burns looked at her for a second, then over at Hosteen. "Inmates are listed by their prisoner numbers up here. So, no, I don't remember." He folded his hands in his lap and looked at the SRP as if this were some sort of challenge.

"You signed it," she said. "I was there. He was convicted of second-degree murder, then sent to my region to be executed. Donovan approved it."

Burns looked uncomfortable. He looked over at Sarah and she shrugged slightly. It wouldn't be unusual for him or any of the Presidents to not remember a death warrant. Gibson had seen the SRP click right through them, applying her digital signature, without really reading anything. All they were provided was a photograph, prisoner number, and charge.

Burns sat forward and put his hand over the mic, leaned towards Sarah, and whispered something to her. She nodded and got up out of view.

"Show me." Burns said.

"What?" The SRP asked.

"Show me the proof. Show me his Old Republican status."

"He applied for citizenship three years ago and it was approved," Jessinda interjected. She held her tablet up to the camera. "See?"

Gibson leaned forward to read it. There was Kersh's image, status change, and the digital signature of the approver. Avenham.

Burns read the screen, too, then looked coldly at the SRP. "Then he's not an Old Republican."

"Nothing Avenham approved is valid now!" Her voice was raising. "He's still an Old Republican!"

Jessinda placed the tablet on her lap. "The Council pushed this one through. He's _not_ an Old Republican anymore. It's perfectly legal and acceptable for him to run."

"You think it's okay for a killer to be a President?" The SRP said to her.

"Where's your proof?" Burns demanded. "If he really killed someone, and I approved his execution, he'd be dead right now."

The SRP sat back down. She had no proof at all.

"Why are you making this so difficult?" Burns snapped. "I don't care if he personally led the militia groups or if he's the one that dumped all that shit into the Atlantic! He doesn't wear stupid hats or rant about moon hotels! Quit trying to mess this up!"

Gibson lost track of the discussion after that. He really wasn't sure who spoke up next, but before long the three of them were talking over each other, shouting, and accusing. He looked over at As He Stands for the familiar glance they would exchange back when they'd been sneaking Mary and Hosteen around.

But As He Stands was staring off into nothing; he didn't meet Gibson's eyes at all.

Gibson chanced a look over at Jessinda. She looked over her glasses at him for a second. He saw a tiny smile turn up the corners of her mouth. She typed on her tablet. His phone vibrated and he took it out.

 _I'm coming to the Center with Kersh. I'd like to have a private meeting with you._

He read the message over a couple of times, and quickly looked over at her again. He thought of all the excuses he could make now. He had other meetings to attend. The SRP had given him responsibility over the hurricane evacuations. He could even say he was headed back to the South and wouldn't even be there.

But then he started thinking about Mary and Hosteen. Mary and Hosteen all cuddled up to each other on the couch on New Year's Eve. Mary and Hosteen getting married. Mary and Hosteen having children together.

And Simon. Simon wanting to take care of her. Simon wandering into her bedroom that night to sleep next to her. Gibson had thrown Simon right under the bus when he told the SRP about that, careful not to disclose the real reason Simon had been there that night. It was outright envy. It was outright distrust and suspicion. He'd told her Simon was a problem, and they had to make sure Simon was never around her again.

Gibson knew he should feel ashamed for doing that.

But he didn't.

At all.

Gibson typed out a message to Jessinda on his phone and hit send.

 _Looking forward to it._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _7:08am_

Simon was pissed.

He strode back into the dormitory, barely acknowledging any of his friends walking by him on their way to breakfast and to check the assignment list.

He'd been out running; more than the required distance. He was fairly certain he was being followed, too. Everywhere he went there was the same bearded man with sunglasses. It could have just been a coincidence, but the man seemed to be following along behind him and not really trying to hide it.

Simon was too angry to wonder about that, though.

There were other things on his mind.

Like who had Mary slept with? Who got her pregnant?

He glowered suspiciously at every guy that passed by him. It had to have happened in the West. The last time she was here, she wasn't pregnant. As big as she was now, it meant she was due soon, and it had to have happened here. It took nine months, and nine months ago she'd been here, in the WRP's home, nervous, and trying to get away from him. And now she was back. She was here, because the father was here.

But who? _Who in the hell was it?_

He blew through his morning routine, trying to think of who she would have interacted with the last time. Which West Guards had been assigned to Hosteen? He really didn't think it would be anyone in the South Guard. Why would she be here? Or was it that moron that was with her all the time, Gibson Praise? For some reason, he couldn't picture that. She wouldn't sleep with _him_ , would she? God…the thought of it, the thought of her with any other man, enraged him.

A nagging thought towed at his suspicions as he went outside to take the pumas onto the beach: this was his fault. It was the result of him ignoring her. Of course she would move on. Of course she would find someone else. Had he just replied to her and not been so childish, none of this would have happened.

But what didn't make sense, what angered him the most, was that she'd gotten pregnant. As careful as they'd been when they were together, why wouldn't she be that careful with someone else?

He was shaking with anger as he leashed up some of the pumas and remembered Mary had one with her. Nathan and Linda, too. _Why?_ Someone had arranged for her to be protected, but who? Maybe it wasn't a West Guard at all. Someone with power. He thought about As He Stands or the myriad of aides and assistants who would be able to arrange something like that. It had to be one of them. And if it was a West Guard, it was someone with a high rank.

He went through all the West Guard Lieutenants in his head, but most of them were women. The only men he could think of were older and nearing retirement. She wouldn't hop into bed with some old guy, would she?

As he took the pumas across the property to the shoreline, he saw the bearded man again in his periphery. He turned his head in that direction, but he wasn't there.

The pumas tugged at their leashes, wanting to be let go so they could run up and down the beach. With so many people here to see Hosteen off as he left for the Center, they had to keep the pumas leashed until they were far enough away. They were trained to attack intruders.

West Guard was posted at the front gate, searching and validating media vehicles. Some would be allowed inside to report on Hosteen's departure and let the rest of the NAU see he was doing just fine. Simon would rather not be doing any of the searches. They had to now, whether Hosteen had been attacked or not, because last year a seventy-six year old Comanche woman snuck onto the estate inside a media van. As soon as Hosteen came outside, she took a running leap into his arms and gave him a kiss. Simon had never seen an old lady move so fast.

Hosteen ended up letting her take a selfie with him and invited her back to have dinner with him sometime. The woman had practically fainted with delight. Simon didn't know if she ever came back, but things like that happened to Hosteen all the time. Simon was certain there was a crowd of infatuated ladies and men at the front gate hoping to be as lucky as the old Comanche woman.

Simon shook his head as the pumas pulled at their leashes making him walk-run to the beach. What a life that must be…women falling over themselves to be with you, risking arrest to kiss you, and practically hysterical when you get hurt. Most men might let that kind of admiration change them. Most men might take advantage of that kind of life and all the women around them. That kind of power could really make or break a person. That kind of power…

Simon suddenly halted to a dead stop.

The pumas irritably pulled at their leashes, turning to look at him with annoyance.

"Hey Simon! Simon!" Someone called behind him.

He didn't turn around. His heart was starting to pound, sweat forming all over his face.

"Hey!" Corporal Berrios ran up to him. "Do you have Sasha with you?"

Simon heard him, but he felt like he couldn't move.

 _Someone with power…someone with a lot of power…_

"I can't find her," Corporal Berrios continued. "I thought I'd let her hunt on the beach before the WRP leaves."

Simon felt dizzy. His throat felt like it was closing up.

 _Dominique went after Hosteen first, then she came after Mary…_

"He didn't ask for her, but he usually takes her with him when he goes to the Center." Corporal Berrios paused, looking at Simon curiously. "Are you feeling okay?"

Simon saw one of the pumas looking off towards the gardens in the back of the estate. Its ears twitched, the fur on the back of its neck stood up. It started to growl.

"Simon?"

The other pumas did the same, their ears flattening out, a chorus of guttural growls coming from each of them.

"I don't have her," Simon answered, his voice strained.

"Shit," Corporal Berrios said, taking off his hat. "I don't know what I'll do if he asks for her. She's his favorite."

Simon looked over to where the pumas were growling. "Maybe he took her in last night."

"Maybe. Look, if you see her out there with the rest, will you let me know? The last thing I want to tell President Hosteen is that we lost Sasha."

Simon nodded and Corporal Berrios ran off towards the beach. Simon stood very still. He look over towards the gardens, but he didn't see anyone.

Behind him, there was a commotion. He turned to see Hosteen exiting his home, media lining up to film him and shout questions at him. Simon watched him wave and smile before he got into the limousine. Simon saw his perfect face, his perfect smile, his long, black hair in a braid down his back.

 _No way. There was no way in Hell…_

He remembered then the part of the SRP's home that was sectioned off. He remembered then hearing Mary somewhere and Gibson Praise standing in front of the window. He'd shut it and closed the curtains.

 _It couldn't be…_

Simon remembered how Mary had stayed in the WRP's home when she was here and on the SRP's estate, while other Guards remained in the dormitory.

 _No._

He was always unable to find her. She was never around. She always disappeared when Hosteen did.

The pumas were lunging forward now, straining against the leashes. He heard the motorcycle engines roar to life as the motorcade began to leave.

Simon unleashed the pumas and the four of them bolted towards the gardens, the growls and screeches drowned out by the crowds and engines. As he watched the motorcade leave, his heart felt like a tin can, emptied out, and crushed; squeezed and flattened.

It couldn't possibly be…it couldn't possibly be that Hosteen and Mary…he couldn't finish the thought, but there were all the pieces, clicking together, a perfect fit.

And if it was true…God, if it was true…that would be the end of Hosteen's presidency. If someone could prove it, that would be the end of him.

Simon didn't like the thoughts entering his mind now, but he couldn't stop them. They were coming so fast, as if someone was whispering it in his ear, telling him, urging him.

He was brought back into the present when he heard someone scream inside the gardens. He swore and ran towards them. He didn't want to be responsible if some media idiot was torn apart by wild cats.

He went through the various stone paths until he saw the bearded man sitting on the shoulders of a statue of Chief Red Cloud. One of the pumas had pulled off one of his shoes and ripped it to shreds. Another pulled at the leg of his pants.

Simon snapped his fingers and shouted the command in Navajo for them to desist. The four of them backed away, still growling, eyes squinting up at the bearded man.

"Hey, jackass," Simon called up to the man. "Was it worth it? This is government property!"

"Get them away from me!" the man shouted back. "I'm in the government!" He removed a badge from his coat to show Simon.

Simon rolled his eyes and gave another command in Navajo. The pumas obediently trotted out of the gardens towards the beach.

Simon helped the man down off Chief Red Cloud. "I've seen you. You've been following me around all day."

The man straightened his sunglasses and went looking for his shredded shoe. "I'm kind of a recruiter," he picked up a piece of his shoe and cursed. "Did they really have to do that?"

"Did you really have to be sneaking around? You could have just come in the gate like everyone else."

"I did. I was looking for you, actually."

Simon found another piece of the man's shoe and tossed it at him. "Why? Who are you?"

The man sat down on a stone bench and put two fingers through the hole in his pants. "Good God, those things are brutal. This could have been my neck!"

"That's the point!" Simon exclaimed with impatience. "What do you want with me?"

The man looked at him. He was still wearing sunglasses so Simon couldn't really see his eyes. "Your grandparents, Monica Reyes and John Doggett, I knew them before. When they were in the FBI. They helped me once. Actually, they probably had no idea they were helping me, but they did." He paused. "It's a pleasure to see they had a family after all, and that you were a result of that."

Simon looked at him guardedly. "What did they help you with?"

"They were part of an operation that helped people like me."

"People like you?"

Simon could tell the man was staring at him behind his sunglasses, but he couldn't really read the man's expression. "I can see them in you," the man said softly. "It's not much…but…he'd be proud of you."

"Were you looking for me just to tell me that?"

"I did want to tell you that, but there's another reason." The man stood up and tugged at his beard. "Mr. Kersh is looking to expand the East Guard once he's elected."

Simon felt his skin crawl. He swallowed and looked around them. He'd never spoken about Alvin Kersh to anyone since that day in the academy. Mostly because he'd forgotten about it, but then he remembered who that man was and how Mary had failed to execute him.

"He's not the President," Simon stammered, looking around them. "He shouldn't be doing that."

"Not the President. Yet." The man corrected. "He's going to be, though, and he needs more Guard. It's rumored the militia took the torch off the Statue of Liberty to melt down for bullets. They're not going to give up any time soon. The East needs more people. The West has the biggest Guard in the Union, and I thought this would be a good place to start."

Simon took a step back. "My family lives here, so…I'm not looking to relocate."

"Of course. But you wouldn't be a plain, old Corporal over there. How does Sergeant sound?"

Simon thought about that. Sergeant sounded great. With the West Guard being so enormous, promotions were hard to come by and very competitive. On average, it took close to seven years before a Corporal could become a Sergeant and even longer for Sergeant Major or Lieutenant.

And the salary…he could use that extra money for his parents and grandmother. They depended upon him now. Also, the leave allowance for Sergeants was very generous. He could use that if something ever happened to his grandmother or either of his parents.

But…it was the East Region. And he'd potentially be serving under President Alvin Kersh. He shuddered a little bit as he thought of the image he and Mary had found; Kersh's eyes cold and flat staring back at them as if he'd murder them, too.

"I don't know…," Simon muttered. "Um…does he know you're asking me?"

The man looked confused. "Who?"

"Kersh."

"No. Well, he knows I'm here to recruit some West Guard. Hosteen has too many, and he doesn't need it. The East is in great need, however. Your rank and salary are guaranteed. Kersh has already signed the orders."

"He can do that? Already?"

"I'm telling you, he's going to be elected. The best President the East will ever have."

Simon looked over at the WRP's home. His eyes traveled to the windows where Hosteen's rooms were. His heart pounded again as he thought about Mary going into them. Mary taking off her clothes and laying down in his bed…

His fists clenched. Maybe it would be best if he wasn't here. Maybe it would be best if he left before he did anything stupid. And he could still send money to his parents and grandmother. It would be more than he gave them now.

Simon turned to the man. "I want to be a Sergeant Major."

The man looked at him for a few seconds, then grinned. "I'll see what I can do."

Simon nodded, a knot forming in his stomach.

"I'll be in touch," the man said as he walked out of the garden, wearing one shoe and carrying pieces of the other one. "I look forward to seeing you in the East Region black, _Sergeant_ Doggett."

Simon watched him leave. A breeze came in from the coast and ruffled the flowers around him, but he didn't feel it.

He couldn't feel anything.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2050_

 _4:32pm_

Gibson walked inside the Memorial and looked around.

He wasn't going down into the subfloors. He was meeting Scully in the entrance. He walked past a documentary that played in 3D constantly. It was a documentary about the Old Republic, but very biased, highlighting all the things that made the Old Republic so awful and the Union so necessary. He'd seen it before. He'd heard all about how the people of the Old Republic had been tricked and lied to; their privacy violated. How they'd been slaves to their colonial past. How they'd been brainwashed into believing they were free and liberated.

Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. Either way, it didn't matter now.

He walked around until he saw her, the back of her red head, standing in front of a slide show of all the former capitals.

The picture slide shows were all displayed in a semi-circle on the walls: Ottawa. Mexico City. D.C. Santo Domingo. Havana. Bridgetown. San Juan. Port-au-Prince.

It was before, during, and after images, taken by drones. He wasn't sure what the point of that was. Maybe it was to show how easily things could fall apart; how easily those places could be destroyed; how swiftly people could be persuaded to destroy their own country.

Scully was standing in front of D.C. He walked over to join her, but stopped cold when he saw the images of Kingston nearby.

He was there. He'd seen those men and women with their rifles and all the disorder himself. For a few seconds, he couldn't move. He felt a little light-headed as he remembered him and Marita running from the chaos in their escape.

Scully turned around slightly and saw him. When Gibson stood next to her, they watched the slideshow for a few minutes. There was a shot down Pennsylvania Avenue of Lafayette Square filled with piles of assault rifles and ammunition. A dummy of Uncle Sam hung from a tree. The image panned out into a satellite map from before; icons popped up here and there to show where things used to be.

"I lived over there," she said quietly, pointing to the image. "Mulder was over that way." She pointed again, then slowly shook her head. "Does it still look like that?"

"I don't know," Gibson replied just as quietly. "I didn't really get to see it last time I went through." He paused. "The Statue of Liberty is there now." He wasn't sure why he added that. Like that would make it any better.

She nodded again, then turned towards him, looking around. "You're by yourself? No media?"

"I've got a media guy now, and I left before any Guards saw me."

"Are you sure you should be doing that?"

"We're staying just a few blocks away," he shrugged. "They don't have to follow me everywhere."

He could tell she wasn't really convinced. She looked around again. "Is…is _he_ here, too?"

"Kersh?"

"Yeah."

"He might be. All the Presidents are meeting with him tomorrow. I won't be in the room that long. They'll make all the Secretaries leave. Except Alvarez might stay. I don't know yet."

This was going to be the first official meeting with all the Presidents and Kersh. It didn't really matter what Burns, Hosteen, or Covarrubias thought of him. Gibson really didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about what he was going to see tomorrow. Would Kersh pretend he didn't know him or the SRP? Or would he bring up Jamaica?

"Let's go sit down over there," Scully nodded to a café in the corner.

Gibson thought it might sell Old Republic-themed food and drinks, just to be obnoxious, but it was just coffee and tea.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Gibson asked as they sat down.

She shook her head and reached into her coat pocket. "I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

She pushed a USB drive across the table. Gibson hadn't seen one of those in years.

"Mulder's Will is on that," Scully looked around and leaned towards him. "I need you to validate it."

He picked up the USB drive. "Validate it?"

"We have to get Regional Secretary's signatures on things like that. I also need you to, um…change it."

He looked at her, not understanding at all.

She sighed. "I can't do it. The software we have to use would show any changes that have been made. If Alvarez opened that in a normal program, the kind citizens can use, she'd see I changed it."

"I don't understand. You didn't get it validated before? It's been almost ten years."

She sighed again, looking around. A group of school children in blue uniforms paraded into the entrance, a teacher telling them they were going to visit the Caribbean today. The documentary was starting again, this time in Spanish.

"He left me one quarter of his pension," she began. "One quarter to William, another to Emily, another to Mary. None of us have ever needed it, so we thought it was best to wait. Or I did, I guess. Emily and William didn't really want to take any money from him. They wanted me to have it. We just never talked about it again. But…I need it now. If I'm going to leave the East, I need it to get me out of there."

Gibson looked down at the USB drive. He felt like he'd never held something so important before. "He didn't leave anything for the other grandchildren?"

"He did. He divided up his pension before they were born, but…," she paused there, as if she didn't really want to say what she was about to say. "I need you to take Mary out of it."

"Mary? Why?"

"There can't be anything, anything at all, that traces her back to me and him. Especially now. If Alvarez has a copy of that, then Kersh will, too. My whole family is right there."

He held the USB drive in both hands. It felt heavy and fragile all at once.

"I need you to do this for me," she looked at him, pleading, urgent. "You're a Regional Secretary now. You can change it and validate it."

He looked at her warily. She was desperate. He could hear it. She was also putting a great deal of trust in him.

"Change it so that I receive half of Mulder's pension and split the other half between Emily and William. Mary shouldn't be mentioned anywhere else, but if she is, take her out."

Gibson watched another group of schoolchildren exit the Memorial, all lined up in neat rows in green uniforms. They must have come up from the South Region. He could tell from the little souvenir flags they carried that they'd been to Canada.

"But who else would see this?" He asked. "Just me and you, right?"

" _She_ would," Scully said bitterly. "You have to keep a copy of that, don't you? And she would have access to it."

He nodded. She had a point. He carefully put the USB drive in a pocket inside his coat and zipped it up. He was going to have to make sure Ava didn't see this. He was making her go through the extensive backlog of items he had to review and sign and prioritize them. Apparently, Byers had just been ignoring it for over a year.

"There's also a page at the end," Scully said. "I've got it memorized, so just delete it. And if you decide to read it, please don't ever mention it to me or anyone else."

"Okay," Gibson replied, starting feel a little unnerved. What would be in Mulder's Will that needed to be deleted? Besides Mary's name?

"Thank you," she said, giving him a small smile.

He nodded back.

Awkward silence formed between them. He wasn't sure if he should talk about what happened to Hosteen and what almost happened to Mary. He also wasn't sure if he should bring up where Mary's twins might be going.

"How is she?" Scully asked.

"Who?"

"Mary."

"She's good. She's fine." He fiddled nervously with the zipper of his coat.

"Are they boys? Girls?"

"A boy and a girl."

"Oh," Scully smiled again, warmer this time. "It's perfect."

"It is," he smiled back. "She's named them already: Albert and Melissa."

Scully looked at him, her expression curious, her eyes beginning to shine like there were tears in them. "Melissa? She's naming the girl Melissa?"

"Yeah. She said you called her that one time."

"Did I?" She was looking past him now, like she was trying to recall. "I don't remember that."

"She was your sister, right?"

"Yes," she paused there, and he saw a tear escape. She brushed it away. "I guess Mary did look like her a little when she was younger. I never told her about Melissa, though." She paused again. "There's a lot I never told her about. Especially that." Scully nodded to his coat pocket.

"She didn't know he had a Will?"

"I'm sure Emily might have mentioned it to her. I don't know." She leaned towards him again. "She's getting married."

"Emily?" He was surprised. "To who?"

"Marcus Skinner."

"Lieutenant Skinner?" He was even more surprised.

"You know him, don't you?"

"Well, I know him just because he manages most of the South Guard. Particularly any that accompanies the SRP. And me now, I guess. And he's Walter Skinner's son. Is he going to hide it or resign?"

"Resign," she sat back in her seat. "I hope for their sake they don't move to the East. I hope they live in the South. I'd rather her be there with him. It seems like he really loves her. His father would be proud…" Her voice trailed off, and she was looking past him again, remembering something about Walter Skinner. For some reason, he didn't want to know what it was.

He didn't know what else to say to her, so they spent a few minutes in silence. He was glad none of the people exiting or entering the Memorial could see them. He didn't want to be recognized. Liam was doing a good job of keeping the media entertained. Gibson was starting to realize Liam was a good choice for that role. He was quite vain and a little bit of an airhead. He'd asked Gibson on their way to the Center if the South Region government would pay to have a bump fixed on his nose, citing Regional morale as the reason.

Gibson told him no.

And with Ava handling his phone and meetings all the time, there really hadn't been many opportunities to text or call Scully. He didn't want Ava to see he had his old phone. She probably knew, but hadn't said anything about it. It was really none of her business anyway.

"Well," Gibson said, scooting back his chair. "I should get back."

Scully looked at him for a long moment, studying his face. "I still can't believe this is you."

He looked away from her. He felt uncomfortable.

"You were just…," she waved her hands around, trying to find the right words. "You were just a kid, but so much more. I still remember you in that motel we took you to. When we figured out that shooter was aiming for you."

"Yeah, I was playing with a Game Boy. Or a Sega. I don't remember now." He smiled at her. "You think this is weird for you? I remember looking up at you. You're exactly the same as I remember you."

She gave him a sad smile.

"And him, too. Mulder. We spent all that time together, hiding, trying to get away from the same people. He was a good man. I wish I'd gotten a chance to see him again."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"We should have looked for you. We should have done something. No one should have to go through what you did."

He felt even more uncomfortable. He didn't really know why. "Well, they're all dead now. It's over."

"How do you know that?"

He looked at her for a minute or two, wondering if he should tell her. Would she still trust him if she knew? Would she still trust him to look out for her granddaughter if he told her?

"I just do," he replied, standing up.

Scully hesitated and stood up, too.

They left the Memorial in silence, but her head was as loud as ever. Filled with guilt, regrets, and worry. He wished there was something he could say to stop it. Would this woman ever have any peace?

Before he went back to the SRP's Center Place and Scully went to the trains, she stood in front of him, studying his face again.

"I appreciate you doing this for me," she said. "I hope I can repay you one day."

He shook his head, trying to avoid her eyes. "You don't need to worry about that." He glanced around at the tall, glassy buildings. Skyscrapers that rivaled the Empire State building, if that even still existed, the letters NAU shining in the evening light at the top of each one. "I'm just glad you're still alive, and I can repay you. You saved me once." He looked at her quickly, then looked away. "I never forgot about that."

She looked around at the skyscrapers, too. Drones floated in the evening sky towards the East Region. A group of teens with glowing tongue rings were nearby. The ambient light faded in and out each time they opened their mouths, speaking a mix of Spanish and English to one another. A trio of Aztecan ladies walked through the crowd in long black dresses decorated with jade and pearls. People moved out of their way as they brought up colorful fans to their faces. There were silver rings in each of their nostrils connected by a chain to each of their ears. Their hair was pinned up in braids on the sides of their heads. They glanced over at Scully and Gibson with little interest before gracefully boarding a train to the South Region.

"So," Scully said softly. "This is what 2050 looks like."

"Yeah," he agreed, watching trains slow to a stop, then reverse back towards the wall again once they were full. He could hear the mechanical female voice instructing those entering to please stow away their firearms. "I didn't think I'd ever see this."

She looked at him again. "You? I should be dead by now."

"Not necessarily. The life expectancy for white women is ninety-one now."

She smiled. "Then I should consider myself lucky?"

He smiled back. "I would."

Her smiled faded. "Thank you again. Please take care of yourself, Gibson."

"I will. You, too."

He watched her board the train to the East Region. She sat by the window so he could see her as the train took off towards the wall. He thought he saw her head turn to look at him until the train was out of sight.

Maybe it was the evening light, or maybe it was just the way the electric signs reflected off the glass, but it looked like her eyes were a glowing blue; like they were backlit by blue flames.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _12:15pm_

Mary woke up from another three hour nap.

Melissa and Albert were jostling around as usual, but that wasn't what woke her up. She had to pee again.

She was on her back, Sasha laying on the other side of the bed, stretching out her paws into the air. Sasha liked to take naps with Mary during the day, and even though Mary was used to her laying there, she really wished it was Leonard.

Mary couldn't really sit up anymore. It seemed like she was growing bigger every day, and each time Nurse Owens gave her an ultrasound the twins were also growing. Mary could make out features on their faces now.

She made sure each one of them only had two eyes, one nose, and one mouth. She kept asking Nurse Owens if their arms and legs looked okay and nearly hyperventilated when she thought she saw an extra head once.

She had nightmares about it. Giving birth to babies with wings like bats. Babies with no eyes. No ears. And since Mary slept all the time now, she had those dreams constantly. The twins were draining her of all her energy.

Mary had to sort of roll herself off the bed. Samantha slithered out of her dog bed that Mary had moved into her room and raised up her head so Mary could lean on her for support.

"Thank you," Mary said as she got up.

She waddled into the bathroom to relieve herself. When she was done, she stood in the threshold of the twin's room. Everything was ready for them. There were two cribs, clothes, blankets, toys, diapers, and everything she would need. Mary felt wistful as she looked at all of it. She was ready, but she supposed no one was really ready. Especially since she wouldn't be in this house much longer.

She went out into the living room and saw Nathan napping on the couch. Mary went out onto the patio where Linda was and sat across from her. Linda nodded and Mary nodded back.

Mary instantly regretting sitting down. She needed help getting up now. She couldn't take baths anymore. She was too embarrassed to ask Nurse Owens or anyone to come in and help her get out of the bathtub. She couldn't stand up in the shower for too long, so Nurse Owens put a chair in there meant for the elderly so Mary could sit while she showered and didn't have to ask for help to get out.

Mary began to wonder how fast the twins would grow outside of the womb. If they were developing this quickly inside her, how would it be once they were born? She was certain it wouldn't be at the rate of human babies. It was exciting, but also worrisome. How long before they began to walk? How long before they began to talk? There was no book or website on earth that could prepare her for this.

Linda watched the coastline while Mary remained lost in her thoughts. She really wished she could tell someone what was going to happen. She'd opened up her messages on her phone several times, found Esther's name, and had her finger poised over the keyboard, ready to tell her what she was doing. She felt like she should tell someone. Just in case.

Mary and Leonard were going to disappear.

They were going to leave, and Mary felt obligated to at least notify her half-sister about it. She should say something to Gibson, too. He'd promised to help them, but as long as she stayed in contact with him, it would mean the SRP might find out where she and Leonard had gone.

It was going to happen after he got back from the Center. He'd been at the beach house a few days ago. Mary had woken up from another long nap to see the sunlight fading through the window, when she turned around to get out of bed, there he was, sitting in a chair across the room.

Mary propped herself up on her elbows. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long. I didn't want to wake you." He smiled at her. She liked the way the fading sunlight glowed on his face. He'd pulled his long hair over one shoulder so she could see his scorpion tattoo.

He stood up and came across the room, getting into the bed, sitting behind her, and sitting her up in front of him, her back against his chest.

He placed his hands on either side of her gigantic belly. "How are you feeling? Are they moving?"

"I'm okay," she put her hands over top of his. "Sometimes they're still when I'm sleeping. Maybe they don't realize I'm awake yet and their father's here."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back to him, kissing her neck.

"I feel like such a whale," Mary pouted.

He chuckled, hugging her close. "A beautiful whale."

Mary grinned. "You know just what to say to a woman." She turned her head to look at him. "I've never been so big before in my life. I don't understand how women can have four or five babies at one time."

"That's actually a good idea. Maybe we should try for that next time."

Mary looked at him horrified.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he kissed her cheek. "That usually doesn't happen without treatments anyway. You're going to need some time before we try for any more, too. Give your body some rest."

"I was thinking about that." It wasn't easy for her to turn around to face him. She felt a jabbing pain in her lower back and rubbed it away. "Maybe we shouldn't wait."

He looked at her with concern.

"I can't leave here," she said to him. "I don't want to go back to the South. The SRP won't sign a transfer for me to be in the West Guard. I was thinking maybe there's a way she'll have to."

Leonard was listening, but it seemed from the expression on his face he already knew what she was going to say.

"If I get pregnant again, she'll have to let me transfer. It didn't take long for it to happen the first time and they grow so fast. I won't be able to go back to the South if I'm pregnant again. She wouldn't let me be sick and fat and eating everything in front of people."

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know about that. I don't want it to change things between us."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want our time together to be filled with desperation. Or pressure. I don't want that to become the only reason you'll be with me."

Mary shook her head. "It wouldn't. It wouldn't at all." She was surprised to see he looked a little hurt. She took his hands in hers. "I promise you, it wouldn't."

He looked around the room. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar so she could look into the twin's room. He was looking at one of the cribs they'd set up just a few days ago and the wallpaper of cartoon animals holding balloons. Mary felt a little silly about her choice now. Children of theirs seemed far too superior to be looking at cartoons.

Leonard heaved a sigh that made his shoulders sag. "It's like I said to you before: I'm supposed to provide. Protect and provide. It's hard for me to do that right now." He looked at her. "I think it about it all the time. I don't want to miss things. I don't want to miss their first steps, their first words, or when they begin to realize what else they can do. I don't want to miss it."

Mary didn't know what to say.

"There's a way we can both have what we want. We talked about it before."

Mary felt a sharp pain inside her and grunted.

"Did one of them kick you?"

"No. It was cramp. Nurse Owens says they're false labor pains. It's normal."

He stood up. "Do you want me to go get her?"

"No. It's okay. It's normal." She motioned for him to sit back down. "You're thinking about us…leaving, right?"

"Yes. If we were to disappear, where would you want to go?"

The first place that came to Mary's mind was New Zealand because of that statue in his home. But she didn't really know much else about New Zealand.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she replied. "How would we even do it?"

Leonard got up off the bed and shut her bedroom door. "We'd have to make sure no one would be looking for us. That would be the first step."

"I don't think that's possible," she replied. "Everyone knows who you are."

He stood at her bedroom window for a few minutes. The sun had set and her room was completely dark. "No one would be looking for me if they thought I was dead."

She knew she must look confused, but he probably couldn't tell with her room so dark.

"I've thought about it some," he continued. "Maybe we can use that attack somehow. Fake another one, except that attack would be worse, and I don't survive."

"But…you can't die."

"Not everyone knows that. But if people think I'm dead, we can go anywhere we want."

Mary thought about that for a minute, her heart starting to race. "What about me, though? How would I disappear? My mother and grandmother would look for me."

"Maybe they could come with us."

Mary wanted to protest at first, but if they stayed in the East with Kersh as President they would be in danger anyway. "I don't know. I don't even know what I'd say to them."

He was nodding at her as she spoke, but she could tell he was thinking about something else. Planning, filling in details. "I have to go to the Center in a few days. When I get back, can you be ready?"

Mary's hands were starting to shake. She felt another sharp cramp but ignored it. Another chance for her to say no. She could still say no and they could think of something else. But what? She wasn't safe here, and the twins weren't either. Whether or not Kersh became President, he was going to find her. If she said no, her husband would be governing this country right alongside him. It would only be a matter of time before Leonard found out what she did. If something went wrong, it would be all her fault. If she took her mother and grandmother with them, Kersh couldn't find them. No one could. Not the "other" hybrids. Not the SRP. No one would know where they were.

"O-Okay," Mary stammered out finally. "I'll….I'll be ready."

Her heart thudded like a drum at the thought of what she'd just committed to. It was doing it again as she sat out on the patio with Linda. She hoped Linda didn't notice how nervous she was.

Samantha curled around Mary's feet. She felt another cramp inside her, but there was a heat to it, she gripped the armrests on the chair.

"You okay?" Linda asked, pulling down her sunglasses.

Mary nodded. "I think one of them just kicked me is all."

Linda looked down at Samantha. "Hi, Samantha."

Samantha flicked out her tongue in response.

"You can go out walking when Nathan wakes up," Linda said, returning her gaze to the beach. "I'm sure Sasha and the snake would alert you to anything, but it's just safer if we are both here."

Mary was listening, but she was starting to feel strange. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding, and she was starting to feel dazed. She thought she should probably go back in and lie down.

She had to push herself up on the armrests of the chair. Linda saw her struggling and got up to help her, but Mary was standing now. She started to feel something wet between her legs; wet and warm trickling down her thighs.

She looked down, but she couldn't see for her stomach. She put her hand down there to feel. She saw Linda's face go pale.

"What?" Mary exclaimed. "What? Is it blood?"

Linda shook her head.

"What is it?"

"I think, um…," Linda slowly came over to her, taking her by the arm. "I think your water just broke."


	30. Chapter 30

_The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _10:13pm_

Melissa was born first.

Then three and a half minutes later came her brother, Albert.

Mary didn't want them to come yet. She lay in her bed for hours once her water broke, curled up in pain, the contractions getting closer, refusing leave her bed. She clung to the bedframe while Nurse Owens and Linda tried to get her up. Each contraction felt like a wave inside her that never broke.

"I can't have them yet," she cried, as Nurse Owens and Linda pulled her out of bed. "They can't come yet!" She pressed her legs together as if that might prevent them from being born. She thought about hanging herself upside down like a bat.

"You need to walk, Mary!" Nurse Owens commanded. She'd gone from the doting matron to a frazzled drill-sergeant as soon as Linda brought Mary inside to clean her up. "It will help with the labor!" Nurse Owens grabbed one of Mary's arms and Linda grabbed the other, pulling her to her feet. "Walk around the house! It will help!"

Mary immediately sank down to the floor, mostly from the pain, but also not wanting to take part in anything that would hurry her labor along. "No! They can't come yet!"

"How far apart are they?" Nurse Owens asked Linda, trying to scan the disk in Mary's throat.

"I don't know," Linda replied. "I think about seven or eight minutes."

Mary cried in pain as another contraction tore through her. She could hardly catch her breath.

"Or maybe a little less than that," Linda added.

Nurse Owens ran out of the bedroom. Mary could hear her fussing as Sasha down the hall.

"Mary, get up," Linda hoisted her to her feet. "They're coming, whether you want them to or not!"

Mary was surprised by how strong Linda was. She let Linda walk her around the house, only stopping to clench her teeth in pain and squeeze Linda's hands so tight she was sure she might break them.

"I'm sorry," Mary said. "It just hurts."

"It's okay, just breathe and keep walking. It will help."

Mary didn't want to walk or breathe. She wanted the twins to stay in there just a little bit longer, until Leonard and her were far away from here and safe. It was too soon. Why were they coming now? Mary remembered that her 23rd birthday was a couple of days away. She'd been too nervous about everything going on to remember it was so close.

And the pain, God….the pain. Mary had expected labor to hurt like nothing else she'd ever experienced. She'd read about it, including how to breathe to help ease some of the cramps. But here she was in the moment and couldn't remember a damn thing. All she wanted was her husband here with her. He was going to miss everything if he didn't get here soon.

She couldn't have her babies like a normal woman, in a hospital, with drugs all over the place. Nurse Owens had prepared her to have them at the house. She bought an inflatable pool that she would fill with water and have Mary sit in when it was time. As Mary walked around with Linda, she no longer wanted to have her twins in a pool of water. She wanted to go to a hospital, with lots of pain-killers, and have them with Leonard there with her. Where was he?

"Is he coming?" Mary cried out to no one in particular. "Where is he?" She gripped her stomach as another contraction took her breath away, choking out her words. How much time had passed? Surely a whole day had gone by. He'd be back by now.

"He said he's on his way," Nathan announced. He'd been running around with his phone, nervously darting in and out of the house. "Covarrubias can't get away, though."

Mary was in too much pain to feel relief, but thank God it was just him coming and not the SRP, too. She'd sent him a message, several messages, then Linda and Nathan did, too.

Mary went stumbling around the living room looking for her phone. She wanted to see if he'd sent her anything, saying how close he was.

"Mary!" Nurse Owens shoved open the patio door, holding a garden hose in her hand. "You need to come outside! Come and get in the pool!"

It was dark out now. When did it get dark out?

"No!" Mary shouted. She could hardly stand up now. "It's not time yet! They can't come yet!"

She sat down on the floor, obstinate, sweat dripping into her eyes. She squeezed them shut and dug her nails into the carpet as another wave of pain ripped through her.

"Linda! Get her phone!" Nurse Owens shouted. "She can't be texting people at a time like this!"

Linda nearly tripped over Samantha as she came towards Mary. Poor Samantha didn't know what to do. She thought Mary was hurt, but every time she tried to get close to her, someone pulled her away.

"And get that blasted snake out of there!" Nurse Owens screeched at Nathan.

Nathan quickly obeyed, linking his arms around Samantha's middle and hauling her back into Mary's bedroom. Sasha hadn't known what to do either, and she was pacing around nervously at the front door. Just then, it flung wide open and two Navajo women came running inside.

It was Gwen and Pam, Leonard's aunts.

They immediately sat by Mary, pushing Linda away. Gwen felt around on Mary's stomach, while Pam felt her head and stuck her fingers on Mary's neck to check her pulse. Gwen lifted Mary's nightgown, and Mary tried to smack her hands away, but she couldn't do anything but succumb to the pain that was wrapping itself around her, tighter and tighter, pushing and tearing with an inescapable heat.

Gwen and Pam signed things at each other and then at Linda. Linda seemed to understand them. She nodded and the three of them lifted Mary and carried her out to the patio.

"No! Not yet!" Mary thought she was shouting, but it came out as a weak breath.

They sat her in the pool of water. The warmth of it felt nice for a second. Mary could tell by the scent that Nurse Owens had put something in it to disinfect it.

Gwen took a bottle out of her pocket. She poured a liquid into her hands and smeared it all over Mary's stomach. It felt slimy and cold, and Mary wanted to pull her nightgown down to cover herself. Even in this much pain, she still felt embarrassed to be sitting there so exposed; everything all hanging out for everyone to see.

Linda looked around. "Where's Nathan?"

She looked up to see the patio door shut, Nathan standing behind the glass with Sasha beside him. Samantha came out of Mary's bedroom, not wanting to be left out, perching her head on Nathan's shoulder.

"Get out here!" Linda demanded.

Nathan shook his head. "Nope! No way in hell!"

"Pussy!" Linda spat.

"Don't you dare use that kind of language around a pregnant woman!" Nurse Owens scolded. She looked at Gwen and Pam. "Stand her up!" She mimed it with her hands.

"No," Mary cried weakly, "please let me lie down."

"Gravity will help. Stand her up!"

Gwen and Pam pulled Mary to her feet. The water sloshed around her knees as they stood on either side of her to help her stay there. The slimy liquid didn't feel so cold anymore. It was making the contractions not hurt as much. Pam began drawing symbols on Mary's arm and forehead.

Mary felt like her legs were going to give out. "I can't do it like this! Please let me lie down!"

"Gravity will help, Mary." Nurse Owens took off her orthopedic shoes and got into the pool with a towel. "Alright, I need you to push!"

Mary didn't want to push. She'd never imagined she'd be having her babies this way. Standing in a pool of water with people she hardly knew. Where was Leonard? What was taking him so long? He had to be here, he was going to miss it.

"Mary! Push!"

"I can't," Mary said weakly. "I can't do it. I want him here. He needs to be here."

Pam signed something to her, a comforting look on her face. Mary wondered why they were here. How did they know to be here? Leonard must have called them.

Mary looked out at the beach below, hoping she'd see him coming. Instead, she saw a tiny light, a flicker of flames growing closer. She saw another one. Then another. There were dozens of them coming down the beach. Behind those flames Mary saw faces. There were people coming down here.

Mary tried to point, but Gwen and Pam were holding each of her arms. Linda spun around to see what Mary was looking at.

She grabbed one of her guns. "What the hell?" She went to the patio doors and pounded on the glass. "Get out here! Now!"

Nathan slowly opened the door. "Is it over?"

"Who are they?" Mary cried. "What's happening?" A surge of panic shot through her. Were they coming to take her babies?

Nathan came running out with his gun once he saw all those people. He and Linda stood on the balcony steps, aiming the guns downward.

"Stop! We're armed!" Linda shouted.

"What's happening?" Mary asked again.

"Push, Mary!"

"I can't push! There's people here!"

"Mary," Nurse Owens said firmly. "The twins are not going to wait, you have to push! Now!"

So, Mary pushed with all her might, Gwen and Pam held her up and didn't flinch one bit at her fingers digging into their arms. She looked at all the people coming down the beach, standing around the house. How many were there? Hundreds? She couldn't tell.

"What's happening?"

"Again!" Nurse Owens commanded.

A crowd gathered, circling all around, standing all along the beach. It even looked like some of them were standing on the water, but that couldn't be possible. As Mary pushed again, she thought she saw the flames coming directly up out of their hands, held in front of each of them.

"Push one more time! You can do it!"

Linda and Nathan lowered their guns. Those people weren't armed. The only things in their hands were flames of fire. Not from candles or lanterns; they were creating it themselves.

Mary felt something tear away from her and she nearly collapsed.

"Here she is!" Nurse Owens cried. "It's Melissa!"

"Melissa…." Mary repeated, feeling weaker. Gwen and Pam held her in place.

Nathan looked over at Linda. "They're our kind."

Mary could hear Melissa crying. "Let me see her." She could hardly talk. Another wave of pain came through. She still had one more.

"Okay, Mary, take a few breaths, then push again. As hard as you can."

"I can't." Mary felt faint.

Linda and Nathan turned around to look at her.

"They're here for you," Linda said with amazement. "For them."

Mary pushed again. She thought she was pushing the life right out of her. She looked at the crowd that had gathered around them, watching, waiting. She didn't feel threatened. She could feel strength coming from them, giving her what she needed to finish.

"Push! One big push and your son will be here!"

Mary pushed again and felt something else tearing away from her. It weakened her considerably; her legs were shaking. Now she could hear two babies crying.

"You did it!" Nurse Owens exclaimed, laughing with relief. "It's Albert!"

Mary wanted to see him, too, but she began to fall back. Gwen got behind her and gently let her lie back in the pool. She was dazed, shaking, and unable to talk, but she tried anyway. "Let me see them!"

After a few minutes, Nurse Owens set Melissa in her arms and then brought her Albert, both of them cleaned off and wrapped up in blankets.

Mary had never believed in love at first sight, but she did now.

What had she been so worried about? Tears came down her cheeks as she looked at them, their little eyes still shut, their little arms and legs wiggling as they moved in this new world for the first time. They were so perfect. Her son and her daughter, so perfect, in her arms at last. She was crying from relief, but also from another feeling, surfacing from somewhere deep inside her. A feeling only a mother could have.

"You did so good, sweetheart," Nurse Owens brushed Mary's hair from her face, kissing her cheek.

Gwen and Pam knelt down beside her, smiling proudly. Linda and Nathan came around her, too, looking on with tears in their eyes.

"Congratulations, Mary," Linda said softly. She looked over at Nathan and he smiled. Mary looked out at the beach, expecting to see those people still there.

But they weren't.

They had vanished.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2050_

 _3:37pm_

Ava waited for all the Regional Secretaries to come out.

She and all the other assistants and aides had been sent out in the hall earlier. She looked around at North, West, and South staff mingling together. Ava had found her equivalent in all the other administrations and introduced herself. All except for the East, that is.

She looked over at them, sitting away from everyone else, regarding all the other Regions as if they were beneath them. They hadn't made a single attempt to talk to anyone else. Since when did the East people get so snobby?

Ava was shocked to see so many people with Alvin Kersh and that he was escorted by so many East Guard. They were treating him as if he'd already won. He'd strolled into the building like an emperor, a very serious emperor, approaching all the other Presidents and Regional Secretaries with no smile, no gesture of humility at all.

Burns shook his hand like they'd just made a profitable business deal. Hosteen hesitated a little. There was a pause there before Hosteen shook Kersh's hand, like Hosteen had a split-second of doubt. It was hardly noticeable, but to Ava it was obvious.

She was more concerned by how Kersh greeted President Covarrubias, however. And Gibson. The way Kersh immediately turned his hand, putting it in the dominant position, and the looks exchanged between them…the three of them knew each other. Not just from seeing one another on the news, but there was a tense recognition between them. The handshake between Kersh and Covarrubias was loaded with a past; a murky and complicated past. Covarrubias had smiled confidently at him, though, standing up straight. Ava noticed Gibson wasn't really looking him in the eye. And were his hands shaking just a little bit?

Ava was going to have to report this later. It was just subtle enough to be significant.

She'd already made her report this morning. She'd told AI how long Gibson went missing yesterday. No matter how hard she tried to keep an eye on him, it seemed as if he knew when she'd be looking away, even for a second, and he was gone. She would look down at her phone, look down at her feet as she walked down stairs, or gaze out the window of the car in the motorcade. Idle glances, things people did all the time, but each time she did it, she lost track of Gibson. Was he listening to her thoughts? She thought she was doing well at keeping them under control.

It probably didn't mean anything, but Ava had reported Gibson asking her for a device with a USB drive in it anyway. It was such an odd request. He'd appeared at her room yesterday evening asking her if she had a tablet or a laptop with one. She didn't, but she told him she'd be on the lookout for one. He'd thanked her curtly and went back to his own room. Why would he need that? Why would anyone need that? They were quite outdated.

Ava looked at her phone for the time. The Regional Secretaries had been in there for close to an hour now. They should be coming out soon to leave the Presidents alone. Ava didn't know what they would talk about, but perhaps there was some classified information being exchanged, just to see how Kersh would handle it. It couldn't be something completely top secret, though. There was still a chance he would lose.

Liam came down the hall to her, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

"How do I look?" He asked cheerfully.

Ava stared at him for a second. "Stupid."

"What?" He frowned, taking the glasses off. "I thought glasses were supposed to make you look smart."

"Only if you actually need them."

"I just thought that since he put me in charge of the media, I should try to look a little bit like him."

Ava scoffed. "You're not in charge of anything! You're just his representative."

"That's exactly what I said!"

Ava looked around for someone else to talk to, but most of the aides had grown bored and were now absorbed in their devices.

"I'm pretty sure I got the frames he wears," Liam said, looking at his glasses. "I figured that on the days he wears them, I will, too."

Ava still wasn't sure why Gibson did that. She almost wondered if it was some kind of signal. Like if he wore his glasses or didn't wear them, that meant something to a person watching him. She'd started keeping a calendar on her phone to see if a pattern emerged. He didn't seem like the kind of person that did things for no reason.

"I don't think he's going to care either way," Ava replied, sitting down.

"Well, I think they look nice." Liam put them back on. "I filmed myself wearing them, but I forgot the turn the light on so it was all dark. I think it hides the bump on my nose better anyway."

Ava looked at him suspiciously. Was this just an act or was he really this shallow and dumb? He'd asked her the other day if the filter in the Atlantic would clean the Pacific, too, by pushing all the ocean water over through the Mississippi River. He actually thought the river spanned the continent and connected the oceans. How did he make it this far in life?

If it was an act, it was a good one. If Liam was also working with someone, playing dumb would eliminate all suspicions. Ava could do that, too, but she carried on the way she always had. She didn't need to feign stupidity.

She saw the door opening finally and stood up. Liam was so absorbed with himself, looking at his image in his phone's camera, that he stood up a few seconds later.

Out came all the Regional Secretaries except Jessinda. She must be staying because she'd been fulfilling some of the Presidential duties since Avenham's impeachment.

The look on Gibson's face was a bit disconcerting. He looked like he'd just been on a blood-curdling carnival ride. He went to sit down near the window, a little far off from everyone else. Ava went to sit across from him and followed his gaze out of the window.

They were on the 4th floor in one of the myriad of government buildings in the Center. Below them, she could see there were preparations in the works for another parade. Every year the NAU brought the eight oldest people in the country to the Center, a man and a woman from each Region. There were networks coming this year to film the pilot for a new reality show. They were going to put the eight oldest people in a house and make a TV series out of it. Ava thought that wouldn't be very entertaining. They would probably just sleep the entire time with their AI caretakers waiting on them. All of them were past one hundred now. Two of them had been alive during the Second World War: Ernestine Valdez, a Mexican woman with Mayan ancestry, born in 1942 and a Canadian from the former Nova Scotia, Valmont Matin, born in 1944. There weren't very many people alive from that time left. Only about ten or so in the whole world. Ava thought she might be tasked with helping Gibson find the oldest two from the South Region.

Not that she would mind.

She ran her eyes over him as he stared out the window. He wasn't really looking at anything. She could tell he was lost in thought. She ran her eyes down his face and the front of him. He looked nice today, and he hadn't worn his glasses at all. Ava reminded herself to mark that in her calendar later.

She watched a thin line of muscle tense up in his neck as he clenched his jaw, and the fingers of his right hand tap idly on the armrest. For a few seconds she imagined that hand moving up her body, up her arm, pinning her own hands above her head as he pushed her legs apart with his other one.

Ava felt a flutter in her stomach, her face getting hot. She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together. He flicked his eyes over to look at her. Had he heard that? She hoped so.

"So," she said quietly. "What was he like?"

Gibson looked away from her out of the window again.

"Was he polite, at least?" Ava ventured. "He didn't seem so polite when he came in."

Gibson shrugged.

Ava waited for a few seconds, thinking about what she should say, took out her phone, and pretended to scroll through something. "I hope he doesn't win. I know I won't vote for him."

Gibson shifted his eyes back over to her.

"The Atlantic project is bullshit," she continued. "Hopefully, people will see he really doesn't have all the funding secure before they vote. After all, has anyone from the AU, France, Spain or Portugal come forward to back up his remarks?"

Gibson looked at her thoughtfully.

"Someone would have confirmed it by now," Ava said, shaking her head. "If he is elected, I bet the East Council will pull him out once he starts trying to raise taxes."

Gibson sat back in his chair, looking out of the window again. "All the science is there." His voice was just as quiet as hers. "People might pay higher taxes if it's that well-prepared."

"Maybe," Ava replied. "But he has a lot to prove. I'm not sure he can do it."

Gibson looked over at the doors to the room the Presidents were shut up in right now. "People won't consider that." He looked back over at Ava. "He wasn't really rude. Just very…confident."

Ava waited for him to elaborate, but he took out his phone and tapped open the screen.

She looked down at her phone again, just in time for an urgent news alert to come through. She could hear everyone else's devices beeping and chiming as the notification came in.

There was a press conference being held in front of the NAU Treasury building just a few blocks away. A bald white guy stood at the podium. He was very white, in fact; pale and sickly looking with no eyebrows or facial hair. He was giving a speech to the media outlets that had gathered in the Center for the Presidents. He was surrounded by ministers from the Charismatic and Pentecostal churches, as well as leaders from an old order of Baptists that had been wealthy and influential under the Old Republic but had dwindled down to nothing since the transition, the Southern Baptists.

Ava zoomed in on the man. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. He was talking about how his cancer had led him to seek out his personal Savior, Jesus Christ, and now he was being healed by the Holy Spirit.

"Oh, my God," Gibson said, standing up slowly as he watched the broadcast.

"What?" Ava replied.

Gibson walked down the hallway to another row of windows to look out. Ava followed him.

"What is it?" She asked.

Gibson swore. There was a crowd gathering at the front of the building as a car pulled in the front. "That man," he showed her the news broadcast. "That's Byers. James Byers."

Ava looked at the video again. She never would have guessed that was him. He wasn't a greasy, pervy-looking fat man at all. This was the first time he'd appeared in public in decades. He didn't even announce his own resignation. If it wasn't from being sick with brain cancer, he probably wouldn't have been all that bad-looking.

The video was on a delay by a few minutes. She looked out the window and saw James Byers, the ministers, and a few East Guards getting out of three cars.

"The Lord has called upon me," Byers continued in the video, "to help lead this wonderful country of ours. While Alvin Kersh is certainly a capable man with many great ideas to strengthen the East Region and the NAU, I feel it is my duty and calling to challenge him for the role of the East Region President."

All the other aides and assistants were at the windows now, watching everyone enter the building. What was Byers doing? Was he coming up here?

Gibson went over to Liam. "Get down there, right now! There isn't supposed to be any media in here!"

"Yes, sir!" Liam ran down the hallway towards the stairwell, while media reps from the other Regions did the same. Liam still had his fake glasses on.

Ava's phone was still playing the broadcast. She looked down at it to see reporters fire questions at James Byers, talking all over each other.

"Mr. Byers, are you sure you're up to the task? Are you in good health?"

"Mr. Byers, how will this affect your relationship with President Covarrubias?"

"How do you feel about appearing in public like this, Mr. Byers?"

"Are you on good terms with Regional Secretary Praise?"

"Do you have your own ideas to clean up the Atlantic?"

One of the ministers held up his hand for the questions to stop. He leaned toward the microphone. "Mr. Byers has had a miraculous recovery and through Jesus Christ all things are possible."

None of the reporters seemed to like that answer. They all looked bewildered and a little embarrassed.

Byers spoke up again. "I am looking forward to the opportunity to work with Mr. Praise and Ms. Covarrubias again. As you all know, I have far more experience in regional leadership than Mr. Kersh."

Ava followed everyone across the 4th floor to a balcony where they could look down at the lobby. Byers was entering with an entire retinue of ministers, East Guard, and brazen media cameras.

Liam and the other media people came out of the stairwell to get the cameras and reporters out. They were not supposed to be in the building.

Byers looked up at all of them watching him. He immediately turned his gaze to Gibson, a dark grin spreading across his face.

* * *

When Gibson saw Byers look up at him, two things went through his head.

First: finally somebody to challenge Kersh.

Second: why does it have to be this asshole?

Gibson couldn't believe how Byers looked. Did he shave off all his hair to make it look like he went through chemo? Has he really lost his damn mind and actually believes he has brain cancer? The pale tinge to his skin had always been there from spending years hiding indoors, but it seemed from the broadcast he'd added a little bit of makeup to get the full effect.

That sick, dirty son of a bitch.

The fact that he was appearing in public was astonishing. It wasn't like him to do something so bold. And what was with all this religion all the sudden? From the grin he gave Gibson, it seemed as if that might be just as fake as his cancer.

Gibson remembered then that the Charismatics ran all the cancer treatment centers in the Union. They'd slowly been wrestling treatment centers away from Wiccans over the last few years. Had Byers kept up the story and gone to one of them? Had he ever gone to Island 1 at all?

On the other hand, Gibson was elated. Kersh had a challenger. After the way Kersh had looked at him and the SRP earlier, Gibson was sure they were both doomed. Kersh had treated them the same way he treated Burns and Hosteen, but a few times Gibson caught Kersh staring him down, as if he might come across the room and slash his throat right in front of everyone. Gibson had never felt such hatred from someone in his life.

This had literally come out of nowhere. He was sure even Jessinda didn't know about it. They hadn't really done a lot of talking the previous night, though. Byers could very well have gone right to the East Council without her knowing.

Gibson turned to Ava, his ears burning a little as he looked at her. She'd been thinking something a few minutes ago that made him self-conscious when he looked at her. "When Liam gets back up here I need both of you to go to all the social media sites and see what's been reported and what people are saying. Then I need you to find out if the East Council has made any kind of confirmation."

"Yes, sir." She tapped open her phone immediately and went towards the elevators. He watched her go, feeling his ears and cheeks burn even more as he saw her flip her dark hair to the side. He didn't know if he should feel uneasy or flattered by her thoughts.

Right that minute, however, he didn't really know what to do, and it seemed that no one else did either. Sarah was talking to her assistants, and As He Stands was staring coldly down at Byers. Sarah and As He Stands probably never expected to see that man again.

Gibson realized that the Presidents had no idea what was going on. They had to turn off their devices so nothing could be recorded before they were shut in that room alone. Did Byers think he was just going to barge in on them? It was a candidate meeting, though, and Byers had just announced his intentions.

Gibson looked down at his phone and felt his heart stop for a few beats.

There were four text messages on the screen and they all said the same thing: _The babies are coming! Now!_

Once his heart started beating again, he felt light-headed. Hosteen had no idea. He rushed over to the doors of the secure room and hesitated. Should he just knock? That seemed like a ridiculous thing to do considering the circumstances. He turned to see Byers with his entourage coming down the hall towards him. Byers certainly did intend on barging into that room.

For a second, the pious and brave look Byers had been wearing dissolved into a sardonic smile. That sick, dirty son of a bitch.

"Hello, Regional Secretary Praise," Byers said respectfully. "It's so good to see you again."

Gibson hadn't expected a greeting like that, so all he could manage was, "Hi."

Byers stuck out his hand. "It would be a pleasure to serve this great country again along with you and all the other Secretaries and Presidents. God-willing, of course."

The ministers around him sternly nodded their agreement.

Gibson warily shook his hand.

"I believe," Byers said thoughtfully, "that it's said in the great book of Psalms: 'The Lord will sustain him upon his sickbed; In his illness, You restore him to health.' God as restored me to serve my country again."

"Amen," all the ministers muttered soberly.

Gibson looked at him disbelievingly. Seriously?! It was the most bizarre thing on earth to hear words like that come out of Byers' mouth. Was he on medication now? He didn't seem to have any of his characteristic anxiety or paranoia at all.

Sarah and As He Stands had come back with all their assistants, some of them looking at Byers with pity. Gibson thought maybe that would be helpful. If people thought he was recovering from brain cancer, they'd be more inclined to vote for him.

Byers held his arms out towards Sarah like he wanted to hug her. "Ms. Clinton, you look beautiful."

Sarah drew back for a second, looking appalled, but she hugged him anyway. "Nice to see you doing so well, James."

She might as well of said she wished he'd die in a fire from her tone.

As He Stands stood as far from Byers as possible and gave him a flat smile and nod.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Byers said reaching for the door. "I'm late for a meeting."

Gibson was stunned to see the door wasn't locked at all and opened right up. Someone hadn't done their job today. Byers walked right on in as if it was his own living room, all the Presidents, Kersh, and Jessinda standing up, looking at him with annoyance and shock.

Gibson walked right on in, too, straight towards Hosteen.

"What in the hell are _you_ doing here?" The SRP exclaimed when she saw Byers, clearly dumbfounded at how he looked.

Gibson showed Hosteen the messages on his phone. Hosteen immediately began running out of the room, thanking him quietly.

"Where are you going?" Burns demanded at Hosteen as he ran out. He turned to Byers. "What in the hell is that little shit doing here?"

Gibson tried to catch the SRP's eye.

Byers nodded a greeting to the Presidents, then turned to Kersh. "The Lord is my Shepherd, and I have just become a candidate for the East Region Presidency." He held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kersh."

Gibson again tried to get the SRP to look at him.

"You can't do that!" She shouted. "You can't just…you can't just do that!"

"Oh, dear God," Burns groaned, rolling his eyes, sitting back down, and putting his head in his hands.

"Amen!" Byers said to Burns, then he turned to the SRP. "Why can't I just do this?" He said triumphantly. "You did. You all did."

Kersh looked hatefully at Byers for a second, then shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he muttered.

"The pleasure's all mine," Byers replied grandly.

While the two of them continued shaking hands, neither one of them wanting to break it off first, staring each other down like cowboys in the Wild West, Gibson grabbed the SRP and pulled her into a corner of the room.

"Did you – he can't just – did you see?" She stammered at him.

Gibson showed her his phone.

"Oh, my God!" She smiled then, and then began waving her hands around erratically. "They weren't due until April! Do you think she's okay? When did it start?" She lowered her voice. "Where's Hosteen? Did you tell him?"

"He ran out, he's gone."

"Okay, let me think," She put her fingers up to her temples. "I can't leave, especially now, so you have to go with him."

"No, no," Gibson protested. "We can both go later. This is _their_ moment, _their_ family. Let's just leave them alone."

"You need to make sure neither one of them does anything stupid. You know how reckless they are. And please, please, please let me know if the twins and Mary are okay. Can you send me a picture? No, don't do that. Don't send any pictures and don't let anyone else take any!"

Gibson wanted to see Mary and her twins, more than anything did he want to see her, but not with Hosteen there. It was torture for him.

"I really think I should stay here," Gibson replied. "If Byers is running now, that means – "

"Go!" She commanded. "I'm counting on you. Please!"

Gibson turned abruptly and left the room, Byers and Kersh still shaking hands while Byers recited a bunch of Bible verses to him.

Gibson didn't know which exit Hosteen would use. Media was camped out all over the building and citizens were clogging up traffic in the roads now since Byers had entered. Gibson took the elevator down to the underground garage. That seemed like the most logical place Hosteen would go.

When Gibson got out he saw Hosteen walking down the hall towards all the cars they'd arrived in earlier that day. But Gibson could only see the back of him, his long, black pony tail and dark maroon suit. He was walking quickly, but wasn't he running earlier?

"President Hosteen!" Gibson called, but Hosteen didn't turn around.

Gibson ran to catch up with him, called for him again, but again Hosteen ignored him. Hosteen got into the car with the West Region flag on it. Was that the smartest thing to do? People were going to see that flag and media would start to follow him. The driver came running over, got inside, and drove them away.

Gibson found the car with the South Region flag on it and tapped on the driver's side window. The driver rolled it down, there was a movie playing on his tablet.

"Are you leaving already, sir?" The driver asked.

"Can you take the flag off the car? I need you take me to the train station, the one outside of the Center."

The driver complied as Gibson got inside and checked his phone again. The messages didn't say how long ago Mary's labor had started, but he'd gotten the first message three hours ago in Center time. He really hoped she was okay and the twins were okay. He knew how worried she was about how they would look, but he was sure they would be just as beautiful as their parents.

He'd almost forgotten about Scully. Gibson typed out a message and sent it to her: _Mary went into labor a couple of hours ago. I'll let you know how she and the twins are when I see her._

None of them had expected Mary to have her babies this early, but they'd grown fast. Would that mean they'd develop quickly outside of the womb, too? He was beginning to feel a bit of anticipation and impatience to see them. Nothing like them in or out of this world had ever existed. They were a new hybrid race, and the thought of that, the enormity of that, was more exciting than frightening.

The driver took the car out of the garage and down an underground alleyway that would exit upon the street to avoid all the media. Gibson hoped that without the flag no one would pay attention to the car. He was concerned that Hosteen was leaving in one with the flag still on it. Why would he do that? Maybe he was too worried and excited to think about it.

As they got out onto the streets, the car rode out towards the wall where vehicles were scanned for firearms before entry and scanned again before exiting. There were two trains, going in opposite directions, picking up speed as they carried passengers in out and of the Center.

The car stopped at the railway as the trains passed. Gibson looked out his window to see Hosteen's car stopped beside of them, but he couldn't see Hosteen for the tinted windows. Gibson rolled his window down, hoping Hosteen would see him. He wanted to tell him to take the flag off the car.

Instead, Gibson caught sight of Hosteen's driver. He turned to look at Gibson, or it seemed that way. He was wearing sunglasses. After a few moments he took them off and Gibson saw his eyes. They were a freakish white-blue color. Gibson began to get a strange feeling, eerie and almost nauseating.

"Take the flag off," Gibson called to him, gesturing with his hands.

The driver kept staring at him.

"Take it off, or people are going to follow him," Gibson tried again.

The driver smiled, a slow sickening smile like a dead vine curling around his face. The driver's eyes turned completely black.

Gibson felt his entire body go ice cold.

Gibson watched with horror, the whole thing seeming unreal and impossible, as the driver slammed onto the gas pedal, taking the car across the tracks in front of one the speeding trains. The train smashed into it, its speed causing the car to fly off the track and roll down the track until it came to a dead stop.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2050_

 _4:06pm_

Emily came out of the dressing room and stood on the pedestal in front of a ring of mirrors. "What do you think about this one?"

Her mother looked up from her phone. She stared at Emily for a few moments, a smile growing across her face.

"Do you like it?" Emily asked.

Her mother stood up. She was getting teary-eyed. "I love it."

Emily had brought her mother with her to try on wedding dresses. She felt a little guilty about doing this without talking to Mary first, but Emily wasn't planning on a big ceremony. Just family. A big church wedding didn't seem appropriate for her now. Neither was wearing white. This dress was a light blue with little ivory roses sewn into the skirt.

Her mother's eyes met hers in their reflection in the mirror. "I never thought I'd get to do this with you."

"Do what?"

"Look at wedding dresses with my daughter."

Emily smiled, and her mother smiled back.

Emily could see the resemblance between them when they stood together like this. Despite her lost memories

Emily knew this woman was her mother. Emily had taken after her in so many ways, and she wished so much she could go back to being a child again and grow up with her. The nuns had taken good care of her, but every girl needs her mother.

Emily thought it would be nice to have Mary here, too. She smiled at the thought of the three of them helping Mary find her wedding dress one day.

"Is Marcus going to bring anyone?" Her mother asked.

"He has some friends that are retired now. A General and his family. I think that's all."

Her mother put an arm around her. "I wish his father could be here for him."

Emily stepped down from the pedestal. "Would he be happy for us?"

Her mother smiled warmly, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Yes. Very happy." She turned to the chair she was sitting in and sat back down. "I don't think he ever planned on having any children. I think Marcus was a pleasant surprise."

"Did you ever meet his mother?"

"No. I don't know when or how he met Marcus' mother exactly. She was a descendant of the Mwangi family. She was beautiful in the pictures I saw. Skinner was much older than her. He was older than most fathers when they had Marcus."

Emily had seen pictures of Marcus' mother, too. Olamide Mwangi Skinner. She'd been an heiress to a real estate fortune until the AU. There were pictures of her carrying Marcus around when he was a baby, smiling radiantly in every photo. She was clearly happy and loved her son very much. It made Emily sick to think about how she'd been killed.

The expression on her mother's face turned wistful. "Marcus is a lot like his father. The things his father did to help and protect Mulder and me…some of it I'm sure we never even knew about. He was the first person I told when I was pregnant with William. Well, after Mulder." She paused to fiddle with her necklace. "It was quite a secret, but he kept it for me."

Emily sat down, too. She hadn't known her mother had shared that with Walter Skinner.

Her mother turned to look at her. "Sometimes I think that…if things had been different, then he would have…" She shook her head, leaving her thought unfinished. "He deserves to be here now. To see his son in love." She paused with a smile. "With my daughter."

Emily felt her cheeks flush. She'd wondered sometimes if there'd been something between Walter Skinner and her mother. It was just the way her mother talked about him, as if he'd been more than a colleague and friend.

"You want me to take a picture?" Her mother asked, getting out her phone.

Emily nodded and stood up. She thought it was good idea to get a picture of herself in each dress she tried on to see what it would look like that way. Her mother held up her phone to snap a photo, and then Emily went back into the dressing room to change.

This wasn't the first time she'd tried on a dress with her mother. The last time really hadn't been that long ago, only about a year after Mary's graduation from the academy. Like now, Emily had been looking for a dress to wear with Marcus.

* * *

"Do I need to get dressed up?" Emily said, moving to the other side of the house so Mary wouldn't hear her on the phone. Mary usually slept most of the day.

"It's pretty formal from what I understand." Marcus replied.

Marcus had asked her to accompany him to a reception for all the new officers. That puzzled her. She asked him if he should really be bringing her around other Guardmembers. Emily didn't know how to define what kind of relationship they were in, however. Up until that point, when they went out together, he tried to pay for everything, open doors for her, play every part of a gentleman, and kissed her goodnight. The only time she'd ever been inside his house was briefly when he forgot his phone. It had been leisurely yet traditional; his desire to see her obvious, but there was no pressure or talk of anything beyond that. It seemed to her like an old-fashioned courtship, but she didn't really know what to call it.

When he'd been promoted to a Lieutenant in the South Guard, Emily had been so happy for him. He was going to be commanding the Ceremonial Guard for the South Region President. The benefits and salary that came with his new rank was better than what she received as a doctor.

But Emily's excitement for him was short-lived. Things were going to change for him now and between them. She knew what kinds of restrictions the Guard had on their personal lives. It was part of the sacrifice they made to serve their country.

Maybe this was when it would end and that reception would be the last time they would be together. It bothered her more than she thought it would.

"The reception isn't an official Guard function," he told her. "Some of the Generals that are retiring like to do this for the new officers. It's an unofficial kind of reception."

Emily went into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door. "When is it?"

"This weekend. Do you have to work?"

"No…well, I can find someone to cover for me, at least."

"You don't have to go, but I would like it if you were there." He paused, the tone of his voice changing. "It would mean a lot if you were there."

Emily smiled to herself. "I'll be there. I promise."

They said goodbye and hung up. Emily just remembered that she didn't have any formal dresses. She'd never needed one. But she had seen her mother wearing one to the banquets her and her father used to go to together. Maybe she could borrow that one.

A couple days later, Emily came downstairs to get her purse and leave for the train station. She and Mary had stayed in the South Region, but Emily thought that she should be looking for a house in the East Region. Emily had only moved them down here to get the In-Region tuition for the academy.

Emily was surprised to see Mary downstairs on the couch watching TV and not in her room. She was wrapped up in her purple comforter from her bed, like a caterpillar in a purple cocoon. Mary had been very depressed these last few months. Emily knew it was over a boy, but she didn't know who the boy was. Mary wouldn't tell her and kept her thoughts guarded whenever Emily was around. But Emily could recognize a broken heart; she knew that feeling all too well.

"Mary," Emily sat down on the couch next to the purple cocoon. "Are you okay?"

She couldn't see Mary's face. She'd pulled the comforter over her head. "I just wanted to watch TV."

"It will help if you can see it," Emily replied, gently pushing the comforter away from Mary's face. Her hair was a mess. Emily tried to smooth it down for her. "I'm going to see your grandmother. Do you want to come?"

Mary shook her head and pulled the comforter back over her head and lay down.

Emily hated to see her daughter like this, but what could she do? Her own mother had seen her in this state, and Emily knew better than anyone that only time and comfort from loved ones could really heal a broken heart.

"I'll be back in of couple hours," Emily said. "Do you want to watch a movie later? _The Princess Bride_?" That movie was older than she was, but it was Mary's favorite. She'd watched it over and over as a child.

Mary mumbled something from under the comforter.

Emily pushed the comforter aside to kiss Mary's cheek. "Te quiero. Te veré más tarde."

"Yo también te amo," Mary replied sadly.

When Emily got to her mother's house later, her mother was standing on a ladder examining a hole in the side of the roof. Emily felt like she should be telling her eighty-two year old mother not to be standing on ladders, but nothing about her mother was eighty-two. Emily thought she should at least hold the ladder. Other than that, she knew to stay out of the way. Her mother knew what she was doing.

Her mother seemed upset about the hole and asked Emily to go to the closest store for boric acid. Emily didn't know why, but she did it. She'd ended up going to two stores to find it. Immigrants couldn't purchase but so many types of chemicals and pesticides in certain amounts at a time.

Later, when Emily asked her mother about the dress, her mother seemed embarrassed about it and told Emily she'd spilled something on it and had to throw it away. Now, the only formal dress she had was a black one. Her mother lay it out on her bed for Emily to try on. They weren't really the same size. Emily was taller, but when she put it on, she thought it might work.

When she came out of her mother's bedroom with it on, her mother looked at her like she'd never seen her before.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked, worried.

"Nothing," her mother said softly, coming over to her. "Nothing at all." She untwisted one of the straps on Emily's shoulders so it would lay flat.

Emily felt awkward. She didn't want to look bad. "Does it look okay?"

"What did you say this was for?"

Emily felt her face flush. "The doctors, um…the surgeons at the hospital are having a dinner for the on-call staff to thank us. I thought I should look nice. Since they went through so much trouble."

If her mother didn't believe her, she betrayed nothing in her expression.

Emily wasn't good at lying, and she resisted the impulse to blather on about the surgeons at the hospital to make her explanation better. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror in her mother's bedroom. She thought black wouldn't suit her, but it looked good on her.

"Do you want to keep it?" Her mother asked.

"No," Emily replied with surprise. "I just wanted to borrow it. It's just one night."

"It suits you," her mother said, returning her gaze in the mirror. "I think you should keep it. There might be another dinner next year."

Emily took that black dress home with her, but promised she'd return it. Emily didn't think she'd ever need to get dressed up like this again.

When the weekend came, she didn't really know what to do with herself. She'd never needed to be this dressed up for anything in her life. After she'd showered, dressed, and curled her hair, she felt like something was missing. She went up to Mary's room. Mary had some jewelry William had given her for her eighteenth birthday. It was also supposed to be for her graduation, but he didn't give it to Mary himself. He left it with their mother, and Emily had to go pick it up.

Emily knocked on the door, then slowly opened it. Mary's room was dark except for the blue light of her device under her blankets.

"Mary," Emily said softly. "I'm just coming in to borrow your earrings. I promise I'll bring them back."

Mary didn't answer.

Emily opened her jewelry box when she heard Mary stir under the covers. "What do you need them for?"

"It's just a function at the hospital."

Mary came out from under her blanket-cave and turned on the lamp. "Why are you so dressed up?"

"It's just for the hospital," Emily replied, finally finding the earrings she wanted.

Mary sat up. "Are you going to see Papa?"

"No," Emily walked downstairs and Mary followed, bundled up in blankets even though it was 80 degrees outside.

"Can I come?" Mary asked. "Does he want to see me, too?"

"No, I'm not going to see your father." Emily insisted.

"Why are you all dressed up then?"

"It's just a dinner, a thing at the hospital," Emily maintained, looking for her bag. She'd decided to drive down since riding on the train outfitted like this seemed silly. She turned to see Mary's face, disappointed and disbelieving. It was hard to listen to her thoughts about William. As angry as she was at him, she still desperately wanted him to be proud of her and spend time with her.

"Mary, I promise," Emily said gently. "It's just a dinner at the hospital for the on-call staff. I won't be gone long."

Just as she was snapping shut a black clutch that matched her dress, she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to see an officer uniformed in green standing there. He gestured to a car parked behind him.

"Ms. Scully? I'm here on behalf of Lieutenant Ski - "

Emily tried to clear her throat, interrupting him so Mary wouldn't hear. "Thank you. I'll be ready in a minute."

Emily hugged Mary, told her she'd be back later, and then she quickly walked to the car and got inside. She could see Mary standing at the window, watching them leave, her hair a mess and still wearing the same pajamas she had on two days ago. She should probably tell Mary what was going on, but there didn't seem to be much point since this would be last time she'd see Marcus.

Emily expected the driver to take her straight down I-95, but he went west instead.

"What about 95?" Emily asked him.

"Hurricane Francis," he replied. "It's a Category 3 now. This is safer."

Emily hadn't been paying attention to the news the last few days. Hurricane Francis was supposed to go through Island 5, then make its way up the peninsula towards the East Region coastline. It had been a mere tropical storm a few days ago. She'd read East and South Guard were already preparing for it and setting up barricades to prevent as much of the toxic ocean water from flooding the mainland as possible.

After about an hour, the car cruised around Lake Okeechobee. Emily could see men and women in lab coats injecting baby alligators with something before letting them loose in the lake. Apparently, the new SRP hadn't wasted any time starting her project. The lake had to be cleaned of trash and pollution from when it was surrounded by resorts. A special kind of algae had been dumped into it that would clean the water of harmful bacteria. The new SRP was really going to breed alligators that would kill all the pythons. Poisonous bait and hunting them didn't work. It was the first progressive step any SRP had taken in years. Emily would have voted for her if she had voting rights.

The driver seemed to take her around the entire circumference of the lake until they arrived at a mansion, all the windows lit up with fake candles and palm trees lining the driveway. The Generals in the South Region Guard lived well. Emily wondered if Marcus might be a General one day.

The driver opened the door for her, and suddenly Emily felt like she was stepping into a whole other reality. It was the way everything looked. It was the clear night, with a slight breeze and star-filled sky; no sign of Hurricane Francis near them. The way the light from inside seemed to shine on the steps so perfectly that when she walked up to the entrance and saw Marcus standing there in his green uniform, medals and badges lining the shoulders and lapel, she felt like she was in a movie. She'd only seen evenings like these in the fairy tales Mary loved to watch and read about.

When Marcus saw her, he had the look on his face she'd seen years ago when he'd promised to protect her daughter. It stayed there when he took her hand and kissed it. It was in his eyes as she smiled back at him, feeling as if she was meant to be here. As if the whole evening was playing out to hold them together and not pull them apart.

After dinner, they went outside to a seating area lit by torches. There were caterers and bartenders, some human and some artificial, waiting on them. When the General asked each new officer to stand up so he could honor them personally, Emily remained seated with what she assumed were people like her – romantic partners of the men and women being honored. Were they all going to get dumped, too? Emily drank half a glass of champagne, but had to stop because it was making her feel dizzy. The only alcohol she'd ever had was communion wine.

As the General gave an impromptu speech, a young man with dark hair moved to the empty seat next to her.

"Which one is yours?" He whispered to her.

Emily pointed to Marcus.

"Not bad," he smiled. He pointed to a man wearing the badges of a Colonel. "That one's mine."

"Oh," Emily replied, smiling politely. "Not bad either."

"That's quite an accent you have. Let me guess…Guatemala?"

Emily shook her head.

"Belize?"

Emily smiled. "Honduras."

"Wow, I wouldn't have guessed that. When I saw you earlier, I thought you were Irish, to be honest."

"Well…I was…my mother is an American." Saying she was _born_ in the United States wasn't truthful, but saying _created_ would just make it weird.

"Ah," he set his glass down, and they listened to the speech for a few minutes.

Marcus looked over at her, his expression softening again, almost dreamy as he met her eyes. She was happy for him, happy to be here for him for such an accomplishment, but she hoped he couldn't see she was starting to feel the pain of losing him.

"I suppose he's worth it," the man whispered to her.

"What?" Emily looked over at him.

He pointed to the Colonel. "I suppose he's worth waiting for. This means a lot to him, so I can wait."

Emily looked at him, confused. "Wait for what?"

"Marriage."

Emily still looked perplexed.

"He can't marry me, but we can be like 'friends,' you know," he nudged her with his elbow.

"But…I thought…I thought that was legal. I thought two men could get married."

He laughed. "What do they teach you in Honduras? I'm talking about the Guard looking the other way when it comes to _friends_ ," he held out his left hand. "No ring, just friends. Get it?"

Emily thought she got it, but she was still confused. She looked over at Marcus.

"The Guard has an unofficial acceptance of friendships, as long as they don't marry or have children before their term is up. It's like they brought back 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' and made it dumber. Your guy didn't tell you that? It's easier they higher up they are."

Emily slowly shook her head. "No, he didn't tell me." For some reason, that made her feel worse.

"That's a lovely dress, by the way."

"Thank you. It's my mother's."

He looked at her with sympathy. "I hope you weren't hoping for a ring anytime soon. You'll have to wait for that." He looked glumly around at all the others. "We all will."

There was applause after the General was done talking and introducing all the new officers. Emily clapped absently along with everyone else. Why wouldn't Marcus have said something? It really was going to end tonight. The evening had lost its magic.

"If you're planning on a destination honeymoon, better take one now," the man said softly.

Emily turned to him.

"Oh, never mind. I forgot. They don't let immigrants leave, do they? That's kind of a backhanded approach. If you want to be here, fine, but you can never leave again."

"Well, I'm a citizen now," Emily replied. "But, no, I can't go anywhere. I don't really want to be anywhere else anyway."

"Me and him are going to Fiji in a couple of months when he can take leave. We have to do it now. It's going to get so no one can ever leave here."

Emily frowned. "What do you mean?"

The man smiled shrewdly. "I work with Intelligence on occasion. It looks like they're preparing to close the NAU's borders in a few years. Make us so self-sufficient and keep citizens in such a nice, happy bubble, they won't notice when the airlines stop flying out. God, guns, and weed. The Holy Trinity of complacency." He mockingly crossed himself

Emily didn't know what to say. She was a little insulted at him mocking the Trinity, and that didn't seem very accurate. People needed more than that to be happy.

"What's your name?" He asked her curiously. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Seth. Seth Fowley."

"Emily Scully." She returned the handshake.

His smile faltered for a second, his eyes narrowing, then he said, "Well, Emily Scully, I hope things work out between you and him. And tell your mother she has good taste in dresses."

He moved away from her then, but she'd stopped paying attention to him when Marcus came back over to her.

Marcus smiled down at her. "My house is just across the lake." He offered her his hand to her.

Emily hesitated for a second, then took it to stand up.

"I've got something I think your mother would like to have," he said as they left, and he stopped to shake hands with the General and all the new officers.

They walked around the lake to his house in silence, but it wasn't an unpleasant silence. She could see scaffolding and cranes on the shore where they were building a bridge. Most of it was barricaded to keep people from disturbing the alligators, but the sounds of the water and the nice breeze made her feel like she'd slipped back into that dream-world again.

When they got to his house and went inside, he offered her a seat.

"Lights," he said and a couple of lamps came on in the living room.

She didn't get a good look the last time she'd been here. It was arranged and kept up the way she'd expected a man like him to do. Neatly, orderly, and with little decor.

He went over to a bookshelf in the corner and pushed several books aside to reveal a safe. Emily looked around as he opened it and saw a picture of Walter Skinner on an end table. She got up to go look at it.

He was much younger than when she'd seen him at Mary's baptism. It was an official FBI photo of him in front of the American flag, _Assistant Director Walter Skinner, 1997_ was printed at the bottom.

Marcus came over, looking at it over her shoulder. "I've got more, but I think that's the best one."

Emily smiled at him.

He looked at her questioningly.

"It's just that when you frown like that, you look exactly like him."

He gave her a half-smile. "I think your mother said that to me. Fox Mulder, too. He said that a lot, actually."

Folded neatly on the end table, was a blue windbreaker with the letters FBI on the back.

"That was his," Marcus said quietly. "There's little pieces of glass in the pocket from when he was near an office building when a bomb went off, an alleged terrorist attack. There's a hole in the front. It looked like a bullet hole, but he said he tore it on something."

Emily set the photo down. Next to it was a photo of Marcus' mother. It was taken when she still lived in Kenya. _Olamide Mwangi Skinner 1976-2023_ was printed on the frame. Emily thought Marcus looked like her when he smiled, a rare thing to see, but it was his mother coming out in his features.

"Have you ever been there?" She asked. "To the African Union?"

"No," he picked up the photo. "That's not her home. Kenya was her home. She was born in Nairobi."

"I thought Nairobi was still there."

He shrugged and set the photo down. "It's not the same. It'll never be the same."

He turned to her and handed her a leather case. She opened it to see Walter Skinner's FBI credentials and badge. Seeing the Department of Justice seal and FBI seal gave her chills for some reason. Emily sat down on the sofa and Marcus sat next to her.

How could something like this just be wiped out? It was all so official; the gold badge, Walter Skinner's signature, and the holographic motto printed over it: _Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity._ Her mother had one just like it. Her father, too. She'd seen them. They'd carried this with them and probably showed it to countless people. Emily's mother didn't display these things in her home in the way Marcus did. She kept everything hidden as if the sight of it was too painful.

"You don't want to keep this?" Emily asked.

"I don't know what for," he replied. "I have everything else. I just thought she'd like to have it. My father thought highly of her, and from what he said, they were very close."

Emily put the badge in her black clutch. She didn't know how she would explain getting this when she gave it to her mother. She should probably wait before she did that.

As they sat there quietly, Emily had a sense of dread. He hadn't brought her here just to give her that. At least he was going to be nice about breaking things off with her. She remembered what Seth Fowley said to her and wondered what being _friends_ actually meant. Friends with benefits?

"Do you want a drink?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I had some champagne. It was really too much for me. I've never had champagne before."

He smiled at her, a warm smile that made her heart flutter in her chest. This was going to be painful.

"Things are going to change for you now," she said quietly when a rumble of thunder sounded a few miles away, the outlying storm clouds of Hurricane Francis coming inland.

He nodded.

"Maybe one day, you'll rise to a General and get a house like his."

"Maybe."

When was he going to say it? It would be better if he just said it so she could go home. She could join Mary in her own heartache.

Emily stood up and went to a window that looked out at Lake Okeechobee. Lightening flashed in the distance.

"Francis isn't supposed to come this far, is it?" She asked, holding her purse in front of her, ready to leave, ready to make an exit.

"No."

She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't turn around to meet them. Suddenly, he got up and stood behind her. She felt his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him. He leaned his head against hers, his breath warm in her ear.

She closed her eyes and put her arms over his, entwining their fingers. He was just making it worse.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered.

Emily opened her eyes and watched another flash of lightening on the horizon. It took her a second to take in what he said, to take in the words, breathed softly into her ear, the tone, and the way it made her feel.

She turned slowly in his arms to face him. "I'm in love with you, too."

He slowly brought his hands up to her face.

"But it doesn't matter, does it?" Emily whispered. "You have a long career ahead of you, and it just wouldn't work."

"Do you want this to end?"

"No. Do you?"

He kissed her, unlike any way he'd ever kissed her before. She let the clutch slip from her hands to the floor as she put her arms around his neck.

When he pulled away from her, she felt her whole body shaking.

"If you can give me some time, if you can wait," he said. "I can resign in a couple years with a full pension. You and Mary won't ever have to worry about anything again."

She blinked. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"It's a lot to ask," he continued, stroking her face. "A lot to think about, so you don't have to answer me right now."

She didn't know what to say. She'd been prepared for this to be the end of it, but he was practically proposing to her.

She kissed him again and thought about all the times she'd assumed he was too grouchy, too rough, and too blunt to love or be loved. She thought about how over the last couple of years she'd seen different sides of him, and really, underneath all their layers of living, between the cracks and through all the subtext, they were a perfect match. A perfect fit. She loved him when he was a grouch and when he wasn't. She'd loved him for a long while, and she loved him now.

During the night, Hurricane Francis made landfall on the eastern tip of the peninsula, its storms circling outward, causing rain and thunder to shake the glass in the windows of Marcus' house. But neither of them heard nor saw a thing that night. All she saw and all she felt was him. It felt like a storm; it felt like a storm that had held itself in darkness for so long that when it was finally unleashed, it was too powerful to subdue.

Perhaps it was the relief. This slow-burn morphing into a shower of sparks. She closed her eyes and let herself feel what she'd been trying to suppress. With her face buried in his neck, she heard the zipper of her dress coming undone; the medals on his blazer clinking together as she unbuttoned it and pulled it down his shoulders. Both lay on the floor of his bedroom as she lay her bare skin on silky sheets, feeling his hands caressing her thighs and the arc of her back. Perhaps this was her answer; an explanation offered to him in a way that words couldn't do.

Emily lost track of the time, she lost track of herself, resting in bed with him in the early morning hours. Rain pattered on the windows and the sound of thunder was like a roll on a kettle drum.

She lay on her side, reaching out to stroke his face. "I think I should go home."

"Out in that?" He nodded to the window.

"I told Mary I'd be back later. She might be worried."

"She turned nineteen just a few months ago, didn't she? I think she'll be fine by herself."

Emily grinned. "You remembered her birthday."

He shifted under the sheet. "Well…I had her file in my office all the time, so…"

She moved closer to kiss him. Maybe she should stay; maybe she shouldn't disrupt this magic, this dream.

"If you can't wait," he whispered, "then I understand. I don't want to lose you, but I don't want you to feel like a dirty secret, either."

She put her arms around him, wanting him closer, holding him tighter. She took his hand and placed both of theirs over his heart. "What's dirty about this?"

He sat up, laying her across his lap, holding her up with his arms. "When I saw you walk up to me…I thought I was looking at an Angel. I thought I'd died and you were coming to take me to Heaven."

She probably didn't need to say it, he knew her answer, but she said it anyway. "I'll wait. I'd wait forever."

* * *

Emily came out of the dressing room, a secret smile on her face. Her mother would wonder what had happened in the dressing room when she saw her. Emily reminded herself to give her mother Walter Skinner's badge. She'd been keeping it all this time, waiting for the right moment to give it to her.

When she saw the look on her mother's face, however, she forgot all about it again.

Her mother's face was ashen, pained with worry, her hands shaking, while she paced around the circle of mirrors. It looked like there were dozens of her in the reflections; all with the same expression.

"Mama?" Emily began to ask what was wrong, but she was interrupted.

"I have to go. I have to go home."

"But we were going to – "

"I'm sorry, but I have to go home. Can you take me home?" She turned and began walking out.

Emily followed along, completely caught by surprise. As she drove her mother to her house, she was uneasy by this sudden change. Her mother kept looking at her phone, pulling at her necklace, and giving Emily long, pensive glances. They were supposed to go to dinner after trying on wedding dresses. Emily had planned to ask her about Gibson Praise, thinking that was more important than the man Esther saw. But she didn't dare ask her mother anything now.

Emily had barely stopped the car in the driveway, before her mother flung open the door and went running out into her house.

"Mama," Emily called to her, getting out of the car. "What's happened?" She started to run inside, too, but her mother stopped her.

"Everything's okay. I just forgot about something I needed to do today."

Emily stared at her.

"To report to Intelligence." Her mother added. "I forgot to report it. I need to do it before I forget."

Emily didn't believe her at all. Not one bit.

"I love you," her mother said, shutting the door. "I'll see you later."

Emily stared at the closed door for a few minutes, then got back in her car. As she drove away, she wished she could hear her mother's thoughts in the way she heard William's. Then she would know all her secrets, all the things she guarded, held behind closed doors, years of unanswered questions; things she never said, never discussed, not to anyone. Not even her own daughter.

Her phone began beeping loudly, and she pulled to the side of the road to check it. It was an alert coming in from the hospital:

 _We need you. There was a train accident._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _8:16am_

Mary was on her side, in her bed, with Melissa and Albert sleeping beside her.

The pride, the love she felt as she looked at them, was immense. She kissed each of their heads, gently, so as not to wake them. They had dark hair like their father. Already she could see his features in their faces. She couldn't tell yet if they would have her eyes or his. What had she been so worried about? She traced her fingers along their tiny little hands and feet. Just two hands and just two feet with the right amount of fingers and toes, of course. She'd made sure to count them when no one was looking.

She looked over top of them to Leonard, laying just on the other side of their children, still wearing part of a West Guard uniform.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She knew he was feeling the same way. He reached over to take her hand and she squeezed it. There were many moments in her life that she wished would have lasted forever. This was number one on that list. Nothing could steal her peace and her joy on this quiet morning. Nothing.

Leonard quietly, slowly turned to get off the bed. Mary held a finger up to her lips, and he smiled, nodding. He opened the bedroom door as quietly as he could to find Sasha laying there. She'd been pawing at the door all morning. She was used to coming in and taking naps with Mary. She didn't understand why she was being locked out all the sudden.

Leonard went down the hall with Sasha trotting along behind him.

Nurse Owens had shooed everyone away last night, letting Mary and Leonard have some privacy with their newborns. She even grabbed hold of Samantha at her back end and dragged her out onto the beach. Everyone wanted to hold them and to let Mary get some rest, but she couldn't rest. She didn't want to let the twins out of her sight.

When Leonard showed up, dressed in the West Guard uniform, he promised he'd explain later. He said there'd been an accident. Later had come, and he'd yet to tell her anything. She wasn't all that concerned. All she cared about was that he was here. She guessed he'd put on the uniform to get away without being followed. It was a smart thing to do.

Melissa yawned and turned towards her brother. He was sound asleep. Mary had dressed Melissa in yellow and Albert in green so she could tell them apart. It would be easier as they got older, but right now they were practically the same.

Leonard came tip-toeing back, quietly shutting the door and locking it. He carefully lay back down, reaching out for her hand again.

"You should sleep, too," he said as quietly as he could.

"I don't think we'll be getting much sleep for a while," she whispered back.

"I'll take care of them if they wake up."

"Not if they're hungry."

She'd fed them a couple of hours ago, but they'd probably wake up hungry again soon.

He squeezed her hand, his eyes filling with tears. "I promise I'll be there the next time."

She didn't even want to think about that. At least she knew what to expect now, and she'd be better prepared. Definitely no inflatable pools. No way in hell was she doing that again.

They hadn't been able to talk much, so he didn't know about those people, or whatever they were, that had been here. Linda and Nathan had combed the beach like crazy, looking for where they might have gone with Sasha and Samantha looking with them. There were no footprints in the sand, no sign anyone had been there at all. It was mystifying, but Mary didn't feel so threatened anymore. Whoever they were, they'd come to help her, and if they were like Nathan and Linda, then they couldn't be bad.

"I'm just glad you're here now," she whispered. "I was worried. What happened?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was a sound inside the house; a man talking excitedly and Nurse Owens trying to shut him up. It sounded like Gibson.

Leonard got up and again and opened the door to see Gibson standing there.

"Oh, thank God!" He said, leaning against the door frame in relief. He sounded out of breath. "I thought – I really thought – "

Nurse Owens smacked him on the arm. "You be quiet! The babies are sleeping!"

Leonard shushed him, too, and they both went out into the hall, shutting the door. Albert started to wake up and Mary immediately took him into her arms.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Just daddy and Gibson talking."

Albert made a little sigh and soon fell back asleep with his head resting under her chin. Mary looked down at Melissa and thought she should be holding her, too. She had a sling she could put both of them in at the same time while she was walking around. She didn't want to hold one more than the other and have them think she didn't love them as much. She never wanted either of them to think that.

She carefully shifted Albert to one arm and picked Melissa up with the other. She tried to pull a blanket over them. Maybe she should get some sleep. It was strange to feel so alert and exhausted all at once. She might as well get used to it.

The door opened again. Leonard came back and sat on the bed. "Did we wake them up?"

Mary shook her head. "They're fine."

She saw Gibson lingering in the doorway, looking on curiously. She motioned for him to come over and put her finger to her lips.

He hesitated for a second and came in. Leonard was watching him, a stern look on his face, as Gibson came to stand by Mary.

He smiled down at her and she smiled back.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

She nodded. "This is Albert," she gently touched his head. "And this is Melissa."

He looked like he might cry. "They're beautiful."

Mary smiled again and looked over at Leonard. He wasn't smiling. He was regarding Gibson coolly. He seemed irritated at him for being here.

Gibson looked over at him, seeing his face. "I'll leave you alone." He quickly and quietly left the room, Leonard staring after him, frowning. Mary had never seen him look at Gibson that way.

"Is everything okay?" She whispered when the door was shut.

"We'll talk about it later," he gently lifted Melissa into his arms and lay back in the bed next to her. "This time is never going to come again, and I don't want to spoil it."

Mary leaned her head against his. This was truly one of the best moments of her life. She didn't want to spoil it either.

They lay there for a while, quietly, enjoying this time, enjoying the peace and quiet. Mary was enjoying the fact that they were alone together and with their twins. She let everything else slip from her mind; every worry, concern, thought or feeling that tried to intrude upon her happiness.

"We're parents now," she said softly. "It's all really happening."

"I'm going to stay as long as I can," he said softly back. "Jemaine is going to tell the press later today I had a family emergency."

Mary looked over at him.

"My father," he smiled. "He's done this for me before."

Mary cuddled her son and watched Melissa sleeping in her father's arms. Nothing could be more perfect than the way everything was right now, right here, in this moment, with her husband and their children.

First Man and First Woman.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2050_

 _5:15pm_

The grey haired woman wearing sunglasses limped down the empty train track towards the wall. She veered off it and down an embankment when she saw the track was curving towards a bridge to exit the Center. All the tracks were empty of trains right now. The entire system had come to a halt.

She had gashes across her face, a dislocated shoulder, her neck was broken, and one leg had nearly been crushed. Her head hung to the side at an unnatural angle, but most of her injuries were healing quickly. She stopped, grabbed her head and snapped it back straight. She roughly grabbed her shoulder and popped it back into place. She took off the driver's jacket and boots as she approached a group dressed head to toe in white under the bridge.

They all wore sunglasses that hid their eyes. When the grey haired woman stopped, a woman stepped forward. Her ebony skin was dotted with sunlight through the elevated train track. Her black hair, cut close to her scalp was white at the temples. The grey haired woman approached her then stopped a few meters away.

They stared at one another for a few seconds, and then gave each other a nod. The grey haired woman tossed the jacket and boots aside. Without a word, she reached into her pocket for a knife, and put it to her neck. She brought the knife across quickly, slitting her own throat.

The other woman and the group behind her watched her calmly as she collapsed and blood began to pour out of the wound.

But it wasn't blood.

A black, viscous substance began to emerge from the grey haired woman's throat and made its way over to the other woman. She knelt down and let it absorb into her skin through her hands. She stood up slowly, watching it under her skin, wiggling like hundreds of worms. Satisfied, she turned and walked away towards the wall. The rest also turned to walk away, leaving the grey haired woman there, a crimson stain widening underneath her on the ground.

They were following the train track. Following it west.


	31. Chapter 31

_The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2050_

 _5:57pm_

Emily prepared herself for blood and gore as she scrubbed up.

Train accidents were few and far between, but from what the shift manager told her, and some whisperings from the RNs, this train had smashed into a vehicle.

Emily was ready for it.

She always went to help with any families first. She had a special gift for comforting children. The LPNs and pediatric orderlies always came to get her when a stubborn or frightened child refused to take a pill or ran from a shot. Emily could get them to do it.

She was gentle, she never lost her patience, and she could make it into a game. Something fun. Something to take the child's mind off their aches and pains. The rushing nature of nurses and doctors, trained to be swift and thorough, upset little children. Emily made her voice soft, her motions slow and soothing, and coaxed her littlest patients into telling her their favorite stories or flavors of ice cream. It always worked. She'd done the same with Mary. Even though Mary had never needed a shot or a pill. She'd been a perfectly healthy child.

Emily's father told her that her mother had a fondness for children when she was a doctor. It was an unexpected conversation, one of the few they'd ever had without her mother around. Emily liked to think this small gift was innate. She liked to think her mother had passed that on to her even when they'd been separated for so long by time, land mass, and language.

She hoped her mother was okay. She'd ended things so abruptly.

When Emily arrived, her hair braided away from her face, her hands gloved, charts downloaded to her tablet, she saw that there was little blood and no gore. People on the train mostly suffered minor injuries from the sudden stop. Bruises, cuts, and a few broken noses. Nothing too bad.

Why had they called her in?

She busied herself with a group that had been near the front. She went into a partition to tend to a young man with a small child. The man had an ice pack on the side of his head that a CNA gave him. The child seemed withdrawn but unharmed.

Emily was thankful for the safety features on the trains. Such high speeds could be deadly, and there were instances where precautions failed, but the passenger cars had been pressurized and gravity tweaked to keep them safe and comfortable. They hardly felt the speed, the sharp curves, and inclines. When there was a crash or a sudden stop, the pressure in the cabins changed, gravity suspended, and straps and airbags engaged. They'd probably saved the lives of this man and his son.

Emily knelt down next to the boy. "I'm Dr. Scully. I'm here to take care of your papa. What's your name?"

The boy stared back at her, saying nothing. Emily looked at the boy's deep brown skin and sky-blue eyes. She had a faint thought that if she and Marcus had a son he might look like that.

"He can't hear you," the boy's father said. "He's deaf."

"Oh." Emily stood back up. "Does he seem okay?"

"Yeah," the man nodded, adjusting the ice pack. "I stuck my arm out, but he was fine. Just scared him when I hit my head."

Emily took the pack off to see. A few abrasions. It was going to leave quite a bruise for a while.

"Any nausea?" Emily asked, examining his pupils and feeling his pulse.

The man shook his head. "Where are you from? Sounds like Brazil."

Emily smiled faintly. "What month is it?"

"February."

"Day?"

"Tuesday."

"Good." She tapped on her tablet. "I'll be right back."

"Columbia?" The man asked with a wink. "Am I getting close?"

"Not really." Emily forced a smile. She didn't like patients flirting with her. If Marcus were to ever see this, he'd be screaming in the man's face and forcing him to march around the hospital.

Emily glanced back at the little boy. Sometimes Marcus said things, just in passing, about how he'd raise his son or daughter. If they saw a bratty child in a store, he'd say something about discipline. Or if they saw a playground, he'd talk about pushing his imaginary son on a swing. He'd never come out and said it, but he'd clearly given some thought into having his own child. Emily didn't know if she could have any more babies. After Mary, she'd chosen a semi-permanent form of birth control that took a while to reverse.

Maybe after they were married she would have it taken out. A pleasant surprise might come. They may be blessed. Perhaps this time it would be a boy. She smiled softly at the thought.

She left the partition and heard rapid, stomping footsteps in the hallway. About a dozen West Guards ran by her, almost running her over, in a blur of red and AKs. Behind them, moving slower but with urgency, a couple of South Guards in green came through. She watched their path towards the operating rooms.

"Scully!" The shout came down the hallway.

Emily turned to see a surgeon running towards her. "We don't need you out here!" He snapped his fingers at a nurse and ordered him into the partition. He grabbed her arm, his eyes darting around with panic. "Get to the sanitizing station."

"Why?"

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "The WRP. He was in the accident. It doesn't look good."

"President Hosteen?" Emily felt her pulse sky-rocket.

People loved him, women especially. She'd seen him on TV and in her newsfeed making his way to the Center. She could understand why he had so many fans. He was a damn near perfect work of art. She liked how easy and personable he appeared to be with those around him. He didn't seem to let his looks inflate his ego. He was in the train, too?

"Hurry up!" The surgeon shouted at her as he ran down the hall.

Emily ran to the sanitizing area. She'd never operated on anyone that important. God, how awful. A President? Even worse that it was him. How bad was it?

She stood in the room where they were sprayed down with chemical agents to kill bacteria on their skin, hair, and clothes. She always hated this because it killed good bacteria, too. She took various probiotics and kept her diet clean for this reason. A UV-C light shone down on her and the other doctors as she was dressed in her surgery scrubs by AI orderlies made of antimicrobial chrome and latex.

As soon as she was inside the operating area, the air sucked clean by charcoal vents, she saw the blood and gore she'd prepared for.

Hosteen's perfect face was a mangled, twisted mess. Blood circulated through tubes. Scissors snipped at bits of skin. Scalpels sliced. Machines beeped and hummed while three surgeons labored over Hosteen's crushed body. For the first time ever, Emily actually felt faint. This stuff had never bothered her before.

Outside the room, in an observation chamber, looking intently through the plate glass walls, were the West Guards. They exchanged words with each other and shook their heads with disbelief. It was upsetting for them to see their Commander-in-Chief like this. It was a wonder Hosteen's brain was still working. How had he suffered this much on the train and the other passengers didn't? Emily realized he must have been in the car. She said a silent prayer for Hosteen's soul and the engineer responsible. That engineer must be beside himself right now.

She was ready to jump in and work on Hosteen's legs, both completely broken, when she saw him in her periphery.

Just behind the West Guards, with two South Guards on either side of him, was Regional Secretary Praise. He had one hand on his head and held his phone up to his ear with the other. She couldn't hear him, but his mouth moved rapidly as he talked. He was white as a ghost.

She stood against the glass wall and watched him. It was always odd to see someone in person when you'd only seen them on TV. Reality added dimension. It added proximity.

Mr. Praise knew her daughter. He knew her brother. He knew things about her daughter and her brother he shouldn't know.

He caught her eye and stopped talking. He slowly brought the phone down. He looked around like he was looking for somewhere to hide.

Did he know her? It seemed like he did.

He slowly stood up and walked closer to the glass wall, looking at her with absolute amazement, his mouth open wide like he was looking at a phantom. She put her hands against the glass, forgetting about the sanitization procedures, as if he could hear her if she spoke. He stared at her, looking her right in the eyes, like he could see right inside her. She turned to leave the operating room. She jogged through the showers surgeons used to wash themselves of biohazards and AI orderlies administered vaccines if they'd been exposed to anything unknown.

Emily jogged out to the waiting area but Regional Secretary Praise and the South Guards were gone. It was just the West Guards and an old man she hadn't noticed.

The old man sat in the corner, wearing aviators, his white-grey hair in wispy strands to his shoulders. When Emily looked at him she felt a surge of static electricity crackle over her skin.

The old man stood up. Looking right at her through those dark glasses which contrasted with his all-white clothes.

As soon as he began walking over to her, a jerking, awkward movement, like stop-animation, it seemed like everything else around them stopped moving. Everything just stopped, including her.

Paused.

He was the only thing moving.

The static feeling was making her sick and rigid, like her body had stiffened mid-seizure. The closer he got the worse it was.

He stopped just centimeters from her. He had a scent like something freeze-dried, like dry ice and helium balloons.

He removed his aviators and his blue-white eyes bore into hers with pure hatred. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She was a prisoner in her own body.

"Hola chica," he said in a wet, clotted voice that haunted her dreams.

His mouth moved wrong. As if it were on a delay.

She was fading now. Her vision getting hazy.

He opened his mouth to speak again, working a wrinkled and sagging jaw. This time it was a chorus of voices, raspy and bellowing:

 _"_ _El cielo y la tierra permanecen!"_

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _2:49pm_

"That's a big smile, Melissa!"

Mary walked her fingers up Melissa's belly and gently tapped her on the nose. "A _big_ smile!"

Melissa grinned and grabbed onto Mary's finger.

"Oh, look at her smile!" Mary exclaimed, and turned to where Leonard was sitting. The chair was empty.

Mary sat on the floor of the living room, her back against the couch. Melissa lay across her outstretched legs. She looked around for Leonard, but saw only Nathan, just woken up from a nap, reclining on the couch, and scrolling through his phone.

"Where did he go?" Mary asked.

Nathan nodded towards the patio.

Mary got up and carried Melissa outside. "Want to go see daddy?"

Melissa responded with another grin.

When Mary opened the patio doors, she saw Leonard outside, talking on his phone in Navajo. Albert had fallen asleep on his shoulder, clenching a strand of his father's hair in his fist.

Mary took Melissa to the other side, on the balcony where Linda sat watching the coastline.

"Hi, Melissa," Linda said warmly. She looked at Mary. "She has the sweetest smile I've ever seen."

"She does," Mary agreed proudly.

Melissa looked at Linda with wide blue eyes and back at her mother.

Blue eyes.

Mary's eyes.

Albert and Melissa both had her eyes. It made her proud. They were really and truly hers. It was still unbelievable that she could have created such perfect and wonderful babies. All her fears of deformities and mutations were gone, an enormous weight lifted. Let Madison call her a filthy inbred now. Just let her.

But now she actually had a little sympathy for her stepmother.

Madison had raised triplets. No Nurse Owens to help her and Mary was certain her father didn't do much. Even with all the help Mary had, she was still mostly exhausted, only getting to the shallow end of sleep when she could. How on earth had Madison done it? Did she just drink her way through it?

Mary couldn't see how. There was no way she could have drank her way through this. For the past few weeks, she and Leonard had stumbled their way through being new parents in fits and starts. Both of them new to the job, nervous, afraid of doing something wrong, unsure, and absolutely worn out. They'd had their first disagreement ever, followed by a few more. They never lasted long, but the strain of parenthood showed. Especially since she knew his time with them would end very soon.

Mary leaned towards Linda to whisper, "What's his name again?"

"Johnny Ucan," Linda replied. "Mayan and Pueblo." She turned to look at Leonard, still talking on his phone. "He worked in the Mojave. They were friends."

That had been another stressor: the man in the train accident.

He'd been in critical condition, comatose and unresponsive, but last week it seemed he might pull through. Mary was hoping he would. He'd risked his life for Leonard.

She didn't understand it at first. Why did he drive the car across the train tracks to begin with? Leonard said he wasn't sure. They only found one body in the pile of twisted metal. The train and its passengers were mostly unharmed. Engineers operated the trains from inside the Center. They sat in inside a facility that looked like an auditorium, each of them enclosed in separate pill-shaped chambers with screens and controls where they synched up with their respective trains. In the middle of the facility was the brain of the entire system where AIs waited in a virtual home to be uploaded into the train's operating system and serve as co-engineers. Having the engineers all together in a secure facility discouraged hijacking.

Having armed civilians on the trains also helped.

The engineer of the train and her AI co-engineer were on suspension while an investigation was made. AIs could be charged with negligence and terminated the same as a person. Mary remembered one being terminated a few years ago when a train derailed and smashed into a mountainside in the North Region. His name was Thomas. He was flushed from the system and re-formatted into a different AI named Heather. They weren't supposed to make mistakes, but apparently they could.

Mary had been shielded from the panic at first. Everyone thought the mangled man in the hospital was the WRP. Later, when he was identified as Johnny Ucan, As He Stands had to hold a press conference to announce Hosteen's leave of absence and assure the NAU he was alive and well. He refused to answer any questions. He told the media President Hosteen was taking time off to tend to a private matter. His father had taken ill, and As He Stands pointedly asked the media to respect the WRP's privacy. It had happened just like Leonard said it would.

But there was something Leonard wasn't telling her.

Mary didn't know why Johnny Ucan would get in the Presidential car and drive off in it to begin with. Moreover, why he'd drive it in front of a train. Why would anyone do that?

Leonard told her he had decoys in his administration – men that looked like him from a distance. Same height and build. He'd arranged it a long time ago so the media and horny women couldn't follow him everywhere. Johnny was dressed like him that day, along with two others, and he must have taken off in the car to lure some of the media away. Leonard said he dressed up like a West Guard and took a train to the West after Gibson gave him the news. He didn't know why his friend would leave so abruptly and without orders.

It sounded right. It sounded plausible. But so much of it made no sense. Mary couldn't imagine Leonard hiding things from her, but it really felt like he was. She'd even started to wonder if it was some elaborate plan he'd orchestrated so they could run off. He'd told her no one would look for him if they thought he was dead. They couldn't run off now, though. Not with two newborns. Where would they go and, more importantly, how would they get there? Travel would be difficult with babies, and Mary didn't want to put the twins through anything difficult. Those times would come in their lives but not now. She wanted them to feel safe and loved, and maybe she no longer had anything to fear staying here.

She hadn't seen Gibson since he'd shown up. He was here, and then he was gone. Mary was sure the SRP sent him. She was still in the Center, but Mary expected her at any time. After all her planning and scheming, she would make sure to see Mary's twins with her own eyes.

Mary left her phone in the house. She wanted to make sure the SRP wasn't coming yet. She would probably show up unannounced, but Gibson would send her a warning. She turned to go back inside, but saw Leonard tap his phone off and sit down with Albert on his lap.

"Is he okay?" Mary asked, sitting down beside him.

"His family wants to unplug him."

Albert opened his eyes for a second and looked lazily over at Mary and his sister.

"So, he's not going to make it?"

"I don't know." He sighed heavily, shifting Albert to one arm. "I should go see him."

"Of course you should."

Melissa wiggled in Mary's arms, reaching out her hand towards her brother.

"I don't know if I'll be able to come back, though." He frowned. "Byers and Kersh are having a debate."

Mary's heart jumped to life. "When?"

"Friday."

She felt a mix of relief and dread about it. Kersh could still win, and Byers really wasn't much better. His newfound faith seemed to put more people off than win them over. Even so, his popularity had grown. Mary guess it was mostly sympathy for his recent illness. When she'd seen the stories in her newsfeed, she wasn't sure how to react. She told herself she would worry about it later. The most important things in her life sat beside her and lay in her arms.

Mary tickled Melissa under the chin. "You should have seen her smiling," Mary beamed. "I can't wait till her hair grows out, and I can braid it. Like my mother did."

Leonard looked over at them with a half-smile.

"And I can take Albert out and let him collect bugs," Mary added.

"Bugs?" Leonard laughed. "Why would he collect bugs?"

"Don't little boys like bugs? My ha – well, it's just what I've heard." She felt her face flush.

Mary remembered Ephraim had gone through a stage. He kept beetles, ants, spiders, and butterflies in different jars. Madison screamed bloody murder when they got out and threw liquor bottles at them, even the butterflies. She made Ephraim clean it up as punishment. They were alive when he caught them, but soon died because he didn't feed them or anything. Mary and Esther would go into his room, bring the bugs back to life, and set them free. Thankfully, Ephraim gave up bug collecting and stuck with his piano. He was better at that.

Leonard held Albert up in his lap. Albert squealed with glee.

"I didn't like bugs," he said. "I didn't really like anything except my telescope. Maybe we'll get him one. Maybe he'll take after me."

Mary was thrilled. When they talked like this, of what they would do with their twins as they grew, she thought she might burst with excitement. No matter how much they wore her out, she wouldn't have it any other way. She couldn't wait to see it all; watch them grow and learn. She never thought this would ever be her life.

"And if he doesn't," Mary said, holding Melissa up, too. "Maybe she'll like a telescope."

Albert grabbed hold of Leonard's choker and tugged.

"And then they'll throw tantrums," Leonard said. "Disrespect us, refuse to brush their teeth, want one more hour of TV – "

"And love us. Because we love them."

Leonard laughed again. "Exactly."

Mary laughed, too. "But they won't do anything like that." Mary kissed Melissa's cheek. "Would you? No, you wouldn't do anything like that to mommy and daddy!"

Melissa squeaked out a giggle.

Leonard's smiled faded, his expression turning solemn again. "I should go see him, though. Say goodbye."

Mary's smile also disappeared. "I just don't understand why he'd drive into a train."

Leonard sighed, looking out at the crashing waves. It was a nice afternoon. The breeze was cool and wet from the sea. Mary thought maybe she could take the twins out to the beach to collect seashells; souvenirs from the place they were born. She could tell them the story when they were older.

"Maybe he wasn't himself," Leonard said softly. He looked back at her. "You said those people were standing on the water?"

"It's what it looked like, but I was a little distracted."

"And they just disappeared?"

"Yes. I don't think they were going to hurt us or anything. I think they just wanted to see."

"See what?"

"Them." She nodded to the twins. "I don't know how to explain it. In a way, it was comforting."

"They were like us," Linda interrupted.

"How could you tell?" Leonard asked.

She shrugged. "Their eyes."

"How did they get here? How did they even know?" Leonard stood up and went to the side of the balcony to look out.

No one answered. There was no answer.

Mary heard a commotion from inside, Nurse Owens and Nathan talking to someone. Mary turned to see the patio door open and the SRP stepped out.

Dammit.

"Oh!" She clapped her hands together. "Oh, my God! Look at them!"

She came trotting over on black stilettos, her arms held wide as if Mary and Leonard would give her a welcoming hug.

"And look at you!" The SRP put her arm around Mary, and Mary resisted the urge to squirm away from her. "You look so radiant! I'm so sorry I couldn't be here sooner! I was worried about you!" She turned her attention to Melissa. "Which one is this?"

"Melissa," Mary mumbled.

"Oh, she's beautiful!" She looked over at Leonard. "That must be Albert! They look exactly alike."

"Yes." Mary said curtly. "They're twins."

Gibson came out of the house, too, looking like this was the last place he wanted to be. He sat down in a huff and glanced over at Leonard. Leonard gave him a hard look, his jaw tightening.

He turned to the SRP. "We're happy to see you, too. You sure you should be here right now?"

"Burns left. More militia in Ottawa. I figured I might as well, and, don't worry, we lost the media after the Grand Canyon. Kersh and Byers can't meet with us until after their debate anyway." She turned her attention to Albert. "Look at that face! Oh, he's adorable!" She held out her arms. "May I?"

Mary wanted to object. She almost did, but Leonard handed their son over. She hoped like hell Albert would cry and fuss, but he didn't. He looked up at the SRP wide-eyed. He even smiled.

"I haven't held a baby in…," she slowly sat down, her voice hushed. "I don't even know when." She looked over at Gibson, and he looked away.

Mary hovered like a bumble bee. She was going to tell her to hold Albert's head a little higher or he'd spit up on her. Then she decided she'd like nothing more than to see her son spit up all over the SRP's expensive dress and jewelry. That would be just fine with her.

Albert didn't spit up, or cry, or scream, or kick her in her gorgeous face like Mary wished he would. He was perfectly calm, perfectly good.

The SRP looked at everyone watching her. Did she think this was a photo opportunity?

"I think he might be hungry," Mary said coldly. "I think I should take him inside."

"Is he?" The SRP shifted him in her arms. "I think he's okay." She smiled at Leonard. "First ones. You'll never forget this. No matter how many come after, you'll never forget. And if they're all like this, this world will be perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"Perhaps they'll lead millions," Leonard surmised.

"We'll have to make sure to get you to the South in a couple months. You think you can stay longer than a few weeks this time?"

Mary's heart pounded.

Leonard glanced over at Mary, his expression fallen into disappointment. "We need to sort out Hawaii. You can come here for that. And the…the stuff in the Mojave." He looked guardedly around at everyone listening.

Mary thought she might cry. She wanted to put her hands over Melissa's ears. Why do they have to talk about that right now?

"I know," the SRP replied. "But I think you two can get pregnant again before that. It didn't take that long last time."

Mary edged closer, trying to still her panic. "Give him back now. I need to take them in for their bath." She hoped her voice wasn't shaking. Can't the SRP see how much the twins need their mother?

"Fine," the SRP muttered, handing Albert back to his father. She turned to Mary. "May I hold her, too?"

"Just for a minute," Mary grumbled, carefully handing over Melissa. Maybe she'll have a crying fit. "It's almost bath time."

That wasn't true. There wasn't a set time for their bath, and she didn't bathe them every day anyway. The books she'd read recommended three or four times a week for newborns, but as much as Albert and Melissa were growing, Mary thought she should increase it. They felt heavier each time she picked them up.

Mary looked warily over at Leonard. He seemed to enjoy watching this, albeit saddened a bit. He didn't want Mary to go either. She can't just leave. She can't go back to the South. The twins needed their mother. They needed her and Leonard. They needed their parents to care for them. Mary looked over at Gibson. He gave her a tiny nod and a look of reassurance. He could probably hear all her worries.

Melissa was good, too. Just as good as ever. Mary took her back after about thirty agonizing seconds and excused herself inside with both babies. She didn't want that woman around them. It just felt wrong, and she didn't want to hear any more plans of when they could be together again. They were together now and it was going to stay this way, dammit. She didn't care what she had to do.

She sat in the twins' room for a time. She thought she might bathe them anyway and get the SRP's terribleness off them. Samantha came out of her dog bed and coiled beside Albert's crib. She'd started sleeping in their room like a guard dog. The twins didn't need to be fed or changed, so Mary didn't really know what to do. She lay them in their cribs and went looking for her phone.

She sat down in the middle of the twins' room and pulled up her messages. Samantha swirled around her and lay her head on Mary's shoulder. No unread messages. She really thought Gibson would have sent her something.

She typed out one and sent it to him: _Why didn't you tell me she was coming?_

About a minute or so later he sent a response: _Sorry._

That's all? Really?

She typed out another message: _How long is she going to be here?_

She had to wait nearly five minutes for her phone to chime again.

 _Idk._

Mary glared at the screen. Why was he being so short with her? Maybe the SRP was standing by him out there.

 _Is something wrong?_

Two minutes.

 _No._

Mary sighed and waited a few seconds.

 _Can you come back here?_

She waited but got no response. The patio doors didn't open. He was probably hiding his phone. The SRP might be beside him, and he didn't want her to see. Mary sent another text.

 _I want to talk to you later. After I put the twins to sleep. Out on the beach._

Her phone chimed almost immediately.

 _OK._

What an irritating exchange. She wanted to know why Gibson left so suddenly before. What did he and Leonard talk about? Johnny Ucan? The SRP?

Mary decided to add something.

 _I'm not leaving. Please help me stay here. Please._

Suddenly she heard Melissa start to cry, and Albert soon followed. Once one of them started, the other one was not far behind.

"It's okay. It's okay," Mary soothed, picking her up, and reaching for Albert. "Mommy's here. Mommy's right here. Mommy's not going anywhere."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2050_

 _3:34pm_

Ava looked amusedly at the text messages from M.

The twins?

M was undoubtedly talking about children, she knew that, but whose twins? Gibson's twins?

That would be…awesome. If he had kids somewhere, that would be some good collateral for down the road. But why didn't he ever talk about them? Had he been a President, Ava would be obliged to take this to the South Council lest she be arraigned for obstructing justice. Avenham's handlers were still being questioned. For a Secretary, though? No scandal. No harm at all. They could populate the Union as they pleased. Ava really didn't get all the odd expectations placed on political leaders, but the Councils held them accountable for everything they did. And who they did.

Ava thoughtfully tapped the case of the phone with her fingernails. Gibson had given her his government phone when he reappeared in the Center. He had another phone from his aide days and took that one with him when he vanished again.

Disappear. Reappear. Abracadabra.

It was a shame he had that one. With this phone she wouldn't be able to find out where M was texting from or even the number. But she'd been given a nice set of clues to contemplate.

Beach meant they were by the coast. Could be a lake. Probably not. Probably West. Who would go out to the beach in the South or the East to talk? They'd gag the whole time while every other step was in sludge. So twins. In the West Region. The person was also female. Putting children to bed was a motherly task. Could be fatherly, too, but how many fathers would actually send that to another guy?

Okay. So a woman with young children, young enough to where she'd need to supervise their bedtime, living in the West Region.

So much from so little.

Ava looked over at her laptop on her desk. The office she shared with five other Presidential aides was inside the SRP's massive estate. It seemed to encompass the entire lake. She'd decided to spend a few hours in her cubicle prioritizing Gibson's emails and notifications. All the stuff that needed his approval was done. Byers had made that a hard task for her. She should have let Byers know when he was in the Center.

Byers was currently spreading his campaign and the Gospel up and down the Union, while gearing up for his debate. He would probably suck. Kersh was smarter, better prepared, and Byers had no monumental ideas. Plus, Kersh had no religious beliefs. People liked that. The NAU had worked hard to squash religious leaders and their influence, giving them healthcare as a consolation.

Ava could tell Byers wasn't genuine. She could tell anything like that, though. Most people probably didn't notice.

Ava went back to the South with Liam after that whole thing and Gibson made another disappearing act. He was a freaking Houdini.

But Houdini didn't do disappearing stuff, did he? Didn't he just tie himself up in tanks of water? Ava made a note to look him up later. It was going to nag at her if she didn't.

She looked down at Gibson's phone again and scrolled up to the first message. When Ava saw it come through, she didn't know how to react. She'd stared at the screen in complete surprise like a dirty old frog had hopped up on it. She read the words several times before she decided to reply.

This was so far beyond surface level it wasn't funny. But she couldn't help it. What if this person really needed Gibson right now? She'd hate to disappoint.

And who was _she_? The _she_ M was talking about. Gibson had apparently failed to give M a heads up. The only _she_ Ava could think of was Covarrubias. She'd come back to the South after the media announced Hosteen's time off and it wasn't him in the train accident. She didn't stay long. Just a few days. She ordered all the aides to leave her home, gave them a bunch of busy work, and vanished one morning.

Like another Houdini.

Ava read the messages over again, but the last two were the most revealing. Whoever this woman was, she was close to him. Close enough to where she could talk casual with him and seemed to trust him, too. She wanted his help.

Ava looked at the messages a while longer, then took screen shots. She sent them to a previous dropbox she'd used for her reports. She wasn't going to report this yet. She wanted to collect all the puzzle pieces first. She erased all the messages from M and restarted the messaging app.

She put her feet up on the box she'd dragged in from a storage closet. She liked to take off her pumps and put up her feet on long days like today. The office window overlooked the east shore of Lake Okeechobee. She watched South Guards herd some alligators onto a trawler with platforms attached. The alligators were so big and heavy they could only fit two on each one. The platforms sank a little as the giants flapped lake water off their tails.

Ava remembered the first year of Covarrubias' term, she'd sent a team to submerge cameras into the network of grasslands in the Everglades. The images that came back were the stuff of nightmares – writhing nests of pythons twisting through the water and grasses. Red, yellow, orange, and brownish green snake skins lined the riverbeds. They'd killed most of the wildlife; small mammals and birds were dying off at an alarming rate. The pythons had morphed into giants over the years, impossibly big and very aggressive. About a year after the first batch of the SRP's genetically modified alligators were released into Big Cypress, the python nests had gone down by a third. Ava would never forget one viral video of an alligator stalking a red python up a stream. The python tried to wrap itself around the alligator, but the alligator was too big. The alligator opened its jaws and sliced that python right in half, then dragged it under the surface to eat it. It was terrifying and fascinating all at once.

Ava thought it was interesting that the alligators weren't really concerned with people. They were bred specifically to crave snake meat. The only problems they caused humans was traffic accidents and backups as they migrated from one swamp to another. They looked like dinosaurs as they shuffled across highways, dragging long, spiky tails that were nearly as wide as the vehicles. Sometimes there would be a turtle or a bird perched on their backs, enjoying the ride. Citizens still panicked and shot ones that got onto their property. Covarrubias was trying to pass legislation that would make it illegal and the punishment would be loss of gun rights.

She'd worked hard for that; trading in one predator for another.

Ingenious.

Ava gazed out of the window and felt a bit of envy. If Gibson had some kids somewhere, and it wasn't with Covarrubias, then who? Covarrubias couldn't have children. Not just because of the rules, but she'd told the whole Union her tale of woe and suffering under the Old Republic during her campaign. They'd removed her uterus without her consent. What a terrible thing to do to a woman. So the twins couldn't be hers. Who then? What other women were in his life that she didn't know about? Especially M. She had a relationship with Gibson that Ava didn't.

Ava hated her already.

With that thought, Ava shut off her laptop and pulled out her own phone. She typed out a text to Gibson.

 _Hello, sir. Is there anything you need me to do while you're away?_

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _9:45am_

Mary folded clothes while Nurse Owens tended to the twins.

"When did you feed them last?" Nurse Owens asked.

"About an hour ago," Mary replied, folding a baby blanket into neat, perfect squares.

"I'll see if they need changed, and maybe a little sunshine?"

Mary smiled gratefully. "Yes. They'll like that."

Laundry was a chore Mary actually liked. There was something soothing to her about folding fabrics. When she was little, her mother would set a basket in front of her, still warm from the dryer, and Mary would get right to work folding. She liked to fold towels into shapes. A flower. A swan. An elephant. A palm tree.

She'd fold sheets and pillow cases into squares, taking her time, creasing the folds with her finger until it was just right. She'd spread blankets out on her mother's bed and walk the corners together, matching them up perfectly. When she was done, her mother would wrap her up in a warm, lavender-scented hug and they'd watch Mary's favorite stories.

Always together. Her mother was always there when Mary needed her.

As Mary worked, she smiled at the memories. She wanted Albert and Melissa to have the same. They wouldn't if she couldn't be with them. She had to be with them. They needed her.

Leonard had returned to his duties a few days ago, and Mary felt like the house was too big with him gone. There were three other adults here, but it was too big now. It was Nurse Owens that held one twin while Mary held the other. It felt mismatched. It made her feel off-balance.

Johnny Ucan was taken off life support and Leonard went to tell him goodbye. Johnny passed away a few hours later. His family took his body down the Sierra Madre where they burned it on a funeral pyre. It upset Leonard more than Mary thought it would.

He didn't attend the debate in person. He was there via satellite from his estate. Mary wished he could come back here and be with her, but his visits would be few with this going on.

Mary watched the debate, too, with Albert in her lap and Melissa sitting on Nathan's lap. Byers didn't do so well. If he couldn't answer a question, he'd quote a Bible verse. When the moderator asked him to please stop doing that, Byers apologized and said something about his brain cancer. He played that card a lot. It was really the only reason why people liked him. Kersh did far better.

Mary broke out into a cold sweat while she watched. Her anxiety upset Albert, and she had to leave the room with him a few times.

She was trying not to think about it. She was trying to think about how to stay here. That was the important thing.

The SRP came breezing into the house after Nurse Owens took the twins outside and Mary finished the laundry. She just walked right on in. Like she lived here. Like this was her damn house.

Didn't she ever learn how to knock?

"Byers and Kersh are on their way here," she told Mary. She was impeccable in her black dress and French twist. Why were horrible women always so beautiful? "Hosteen's holding a reception for them on his estate. I need you in uniform by six." She set her gloves on the coffee table and walked around the room as if it was an inspection.

"What?" Mary shook her head. "I'm not going to that. I have to take care of Albert and Melissa."

"There's three other people here to watch them."

"But what if they get hungry."

"Don't you have a pump?" She peek her head into their room. "Feed them before you go, and they'll be fine."

"I'm not going. I don't need to be there."

The SRP glowered at her. "Gibson's back in the South. His inaugural tour is over and you're not with him. You're with me now. You're my South Guard, and you'll accompany me."

Mary broke out into a cold sweat again. Gibson had left only a couple hours since he arrived with the SRP. She didn't get a chance to talk to him. And she didn't want to be in the same room as Alvin Kersh. Not even the same Region. "You've got other Guards. Take them."

"Mary. Understand this: you've been gone now for months. With Gibson. He's back now. I'm not. You get it?"

Mary got it, but she didn't want to. "Why can't I just stay here? One more night isn't going to make a difference."

"I'm appearing in public. I need my Guards." She looked at Mary icily. "Unless of course you want to go back to the South. Accompany Gibson like you were before."

Mary clenched her fists. "Why are you making me do this? I don't want to see Kersh. You said he's dangerous. I don't want to be around him!"

"Oh, I see what is," the SRP looked at her peculiarly. "If he sees you and your name on your uniform, he'll figure out who you are like I did." She sat down on the couch.

Sure, make yourself at home, Mary thought angrily.

"Can you take the name patch off?" The SRP asked.

"It's sewn in."

"I know. Can't you just cut the threads? Sew it back on later? You don't look that much like her. It's the name he'll recognize."

Oh, it would be much more than that. Much more.

Mary wasn't sure if the SRP's remark about her resemblance was an insult. "Or how about I just stay here and take care of my children. The children you wanted me to have!"

The SRP stood up so swiftly and came towards her, Mary almost thought she might strike her. "You'll accompany me tonight, or you go back to the South tonight! Understand?"

She made for the door. "Six!" She roared it behind her and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

Mary couldn't be sure if it was actually from the door slam or her own shaking.

* * *

The reception was out in the gardens that evening.

Mary remembered walking through there with Leonard, As He Stands and Gibson nearby to keep watch. It was only a couple of times. West Guards did their rounds on the estate at night, and Mary and Leonard couldn't stay out long.

Like Cinderella with her Prince.

Midnight. Pumpkin carriages and missing shoes. If only life were that simple.

Mary was a mess. It probably didn't look that way to anyone, but inside she was a mess. With her uniform back on, her lips painted red, and her rifle strapped to her once again, she felt like she'd slipped back in time. It had only been months ago, not even a whole year had passed, but it seemed like a lifetime.

She'd never wanted to put that uniform on again. She'd hoped it might not fit. That could be her excuse. It was snug but it fit. Mary tore the patch off with her name and covered the empty spot with her medal for sharpshooting. And anyway, had Mary claimed her uniform didn't fit, the SRP would have stuffed her into it like feathers in a pillow to get her there.

She was a mess, too.

"I don't want to see him, either," the SRP confided to her on their drive up. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted pearls around her wrists. "I wanted to help your grandparents. He didn't. He doesn't forget things. He doesn't leave things in the past."

Mary looked at the empty seat next to the SRP and felt herself wishing for Gibson. She didn't think she'd ever miss him, but she did. He was back in the South because the SRP wasn't. One of them had to be there. Why not her?

"He knows I'm here." The SRP looked out the tinted window as if she might see Kersh standing out in the road. "I'm sure he watches the news and knows where I am all the time. I have to be there tonight. If my Council thinks I'm avoiding him or playing favorites, they'll have a fit."

Mary felt uncomfortable in her uniform. She didn't remember the fabric itching this much. Her heels felt too tight.

"But we're in this together," the SRP reached out her hand to Mary, and Mary frowned at it. "I've got the orders all drawn up and ready to send to my Council – if he wins, I'll have Guard sent to escort your mother and grandmother to the South."

"Why didn't you just do that before?" Mary snapped. "When I asked you?"

"Avenham was an idiot, but he was a harmless idiot!" She leaned forward, her expression cracking with fear. "Your grandmother will spend eternity in some cage like an animal if he wins. He can't kill her, but he can make her beg for it! That's the kinds of things he does!"

Mary shuddered. "How do you know that? Did he do that to you?"

"Like I said," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "He doesn't forget things. Never forgives and never forgets." She looked around the car, her voice slipping to a whisper. "Never forgets."

Her voice and her face were like last time. When she'd seen the announcement on TV. Mary felt worse, her stomach churning and her heart pounding so hard she wished she could leave her body. If Kersh made a woman like the SRP feel so afraid...

"What did he get out of?" Mary asked.

"What?"

"Last time, when we saw it on TV, you asked Gibson how he got out. Got out of what?"

"It was a long time ago!" She dug erratically around in her handbag looking for something. "We didn't have a choice!"

Mary watched her, afraid to ask her next question. "Would he…if he knew about Albert and Melissa…would he…?"

The SRP stopped digging and looked at her.

"Is he a hybrid, too? The…other one?"

The SRP looked back at her for a few minutes until the car came to a stop. The door opened to let them out.

"I don't know what he is," the SRP whispered before getting out.

Like magic, her demeanor changed. She took the hand of the West Guard that let them out, smiled, and thanked him with her soft voice. She floated into the entrance like a swan, waving to Councilmembers and smiling her lovely smile to everyone while they stood to salute her.

Mary followed along, praying there would never come a day she would see people treat Alvin Kersh like that.

As Mary paraded along behind the SRP, the unconscious and automatic march of Ceremonial Guards returning, she suddenly felt like she was in a spotlight. He could be anywhere in this room. Anywhere outside. He could be watching her right now.

God, why couldn't Gibson be here? He'd keep Kersh away from her like he kept Simon away.

Shit.

Simon!

Was he here? Mary tried to keep her head down as she followed the SRP outside. All these people, all these threads from her past, like scraggly branches reaching out to scratch their names on her face for everyone to see.

"Corporal Scully?"

Mary nearly reached for her gun as she turned to see who was behind her. Don't say her name so loud!

"Where've you been?" It was Julie, another South Guard who'd come with Gibson. "I thought you went back with Praise."

"I'm here with the SRP," Mary replied as she looked around.

Councilmembers, Guards, and a few media reps mingled in the early evening light. In a group by a bronze statue of Chester Nez, James Byers was discussing his favorite hymns mostly to himself. He looked awful. Bald and sickly; that cancer must have damn near killed him. Mary thought the people partly listening to him were only doing so to be polite. He should really stop talking about all that. He would lose votes.

Mary didn't see Kersh or Leonard anywhere. Maybe Kersh wasn't here yet. She needed to find a spot to stand for the evening. One with good shadows.

"You look different," Julie observed.

Mary took a step back. "I need to go look for the SRP."

Julie lowered her voice. "Have you heard anything else about Corporal Sinclair? Is she still here? Have they sent her to trial yet?"

Oh, God. Dominique. Mary had forgotten all about her. Again.

"I heard they apprehended her at a house down the beach."

Mary backed away more.

"What do you think got into her? I never thought she'd lose her mind like that."

Mary saw Leonard, trailed by Councilmembers, go stand with Byers. She noticed a strand of hair was loose from his braid. She wanted to go fix it for him like she'd done before. Many times. It was an affectionate thing she'd done, practically without thinking. She had to think now. The show was back on.

"Anyway, they moved Marisol and Jade into y'all's dorm," Julie continued. "We thought that meant you weren't coming back. It was kinda weird."

"I'll see you later," Mary said hurriedly and went to find a place to stand.

Not the time to be catching up with friends. Not the time to speak to her husband. Not the time to remember Dominique. Not the time to be here at all.

Mary found a spot by Chief Red Cloud. His headdress was made of silver and the rest of the statue from Resin-glazed copper to keep it from turning green. She could still see everyone, but no one could see her. The SRP had also joined Byers. She said something to him that made him scowl at her. Leonard was also talking to him. Byers looked angry at whatever they were saying.

Mary looked around again. No Kersh. Maybe he wouldn't come. She didn't see Simon among the red uniforms. It was possible he was on leave. A few meters away from her, a man with a long, black beard drank directly from a wine bottle. Mary thought that was kind of rude. She watched him for a minute. He was talking to an older woman with shimmer powder on her fair skin. It caught in the light and made her look like a fairy. There were lines on her face that aged her to about seventy.

As if on cue, the man and the woman turned their heads in Mary's direction. Mary felt a surge of electricity dance across her skin.

The woman turned fully to look at Mary. Her eyes were dark, but they seemed to shimmer like the powder on her skin. She began walking right towards Mary, her stride purposeful and direct.

Mary felt sick from the electric surge around her. She was beginning to feel like she couldn't move her arms or legs. It was too familiar.

Just then, she heard someone coming up to the other side of the statue, towards her, their steps leisurely and soft. When she shifted her eyes to look, an icy chill ran through her. She flicked her eyes back to the woman and saw she was gone.

Alvin Freaking Kersh stood on the other side of Chief Red Cloud, sipping a drink and watching the crowd.

Now Mary really couldn't move.

She looked around in desperation for the SRP. She was actually praying for her to come over, but the SRP, Byers, and Leonard had moved off somewhere.

It was just in her periphery, but Mary could tell Kersh was looking right at her. She could feel it. His stone-cold eyes pelting her with his gaze.

He turned to face the gardens again.

She could hardly hear the chatter of voices, clinking of glasses, and the serenade of stringed instruments playing from somewhere. The blood rushing in her head was clogging up her ears.

It seemed like an hour went by. Kersh right there, sipping his drink, watching people. The shadow of the statue shrouded them both. Mary thought maybe he hadn't actually seen her or didn't recognize her. A couple of men walked by him and congratulated him on the debate. He thanked them.

That voice. Oh, God that voice…saying her grandmother's name, begging Mary to let him go.

She shut her eyes.

"I had two bruises," Kersh spoke quietly, putting his hand to his throat. "Right here. Lost my voice for a few days."

Mary looked around desperately. Where was the SRP? Why can't she be around when Mary actually wanted her to be? Why can't Gibson be here?

"I coughed up blood for almost a month," he continued. "It's good they don't let you use guns. Guns are too easy. Anyone can point and shoot. Strangulation and breaking necks takes skill and strength. I bet you were surprised at how hard it was, weren't you?"

His voice was casual. He might as well have been talking about the flowers.

Mary swallowed at a lump swelling in her throat.

"You're strong," Kersh noted. "I'm sure part of it was the drugs. They turn you into killing machines down there."

Mary shifted her feet and stayed quiet.

"It's a brilliant deterrent. Murder rates are the lowest they've ever been on this continent."

Mary was actually wishing she'd see Simon somewhere. Was Kersh seriously impressed with murder rates? He was in those statistics.

"How did you get off the island?" Mary whispered, getting sick of hearing him talk. "Brandon came through. How did you get off?"

He nodded slightly. "Brandon was my salvation. Knocked a hauler off course. I don't remember it much. I had a concussion when they showed up."

Mary thought about running. She thought about running across the damn gardens to find Leonard, running off to get their twins, and disappearing liked they'd planned. Somewhere. Anywhere. Why had she decided to stay?

"Brandon gave me the idea," he continued. He stared straight ahead as he spoke. No one would know he was talking to her if they glanced over. "Hurricanes are like vacuums. Mother Nature's vacuum. She cleans up our messes. I thought we should help her along."

"I thought it would kill you," Mary said as quietly as she could. "That's why I let you go. It wasn't because of anything you said. It was the hurricane."

He didn't respond to her for a while. He was silent for so long, Mary thought he'd walked off.

"How's your grandmother been? She must be lonely without your grandfather around."

Mary felt like her heart was going to pound right through her chest.

"He was worthless, and she was a very stupid woman. At least he's out of his misery now – stuffed into a coffin of gunk for all eternity. Suitable."

Mary clenched her teeth.

Kersh came over to her, set his drink on the brick wall around the statue, and got in her face. His tone darkened. "Did that hurt your little feelings?"

Mary didn't answer. The change to his demeanor shook her.

"We have a secret, you and me." His voice reminded her of something oily and rancid. "I've kept yours. I hope you'll show me the same courtesy."

"Please don't hurt her," Mary whispered. "Please just leave her alone. I never told anyone. I won't. Please just leave her alone."

"I don't give a shit about your bitch granny! She's rotting over there, and it's what she deserves!"

She had a gun. She could shoot him. Right in the face. Right now. Shoot him and run. She could do it.

"I'm sure Marita," he enunciated all the consonants in her name as if he were spitting it, "has told you all kinds of things. All of it bullshit. She's a problem."

Mary thought about the statue. She could concentrate long enough and topple it over on him. Squash him like a bug. An accident. No one would blame her.

"I don't know why you'd choose to serve under her, but she's enjoying it. Dana Scully's little granddaughter to do her bidding."

Mary said nothing.

He took a few steps back and picked up his drink, his tone changing back to casual. Light. Like he wanted to talk about the weather. "We should have a talk. Come to the East. I can arrange your travel."

Mary shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about. I've kept your secret. You've kept mine. Let's just leave it at that."

"Do you always leave your problems for someone else to fix? The way I see it, you have many."

Mary swallowed. She didn't know what he was talking about now. What else did he know about her or her family?

"We can fix them." He took a long sip and started to walk off. "I'll see you soon."

Mary watched him for a second, then spoke up, her voice trembling. "Who was she?"

He turned back to her.

"Erin Spender. Who was she?"

He scowled. "A problem."

Mary watched him as he strode away, the shadows swallowing him up until she couldn't see him anymore.

* * *

Mary found the SRP with Byers in a secluded part of the gardens, away from everyone. They were in the middle of an argument. Leonard was gone.

"I'm going to continue how I started!" Byers shouted at her. "I don't need this shit!"

"You have to listen to me!" She shouted back. "He'll win if you don't change your approach!"

"Ma'am," Mary called nervously. Where was Leonard?

" _I'll_ lose if I change!" Byers retorted. "You want me instead of him? Shut up and let me do it _my_ way! I don't want your help. I don't want your advice! You can shove it up your ass!"

"Ma'am?" Mary said louder.

They both turned to look at her. Byers put a hand up to his face, then shuffled around for a second.

"I should be going, ma'am," he said, softer this time. "Have a blessed evening." He quickly skittered away down a garden path.

"What do you want?" The SRP barked.

Mary went over to her to whisper. "You have to send that order right now. Don't wait for him to win. Send it now!"

"Why?"

"He's going to hurt her!" Mary tried to keep her voice from carrying, but the shock of it was making her stammer on louder than she intended. "He called her a bitch! He said he wants me to come to the East to talk to him! He said I have all kinds of problems and we can fix them. What's he talking about? He said my grandfather was worthless. He's going to hurt her. I begged him not to but he hates her! You were right! He's going to hurt her! I know he is! He's going to do something awful to her!"

The SRP had come over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Calm down! Slow down! Kersh? Kersh came over to you?"

"Yes! Who else? Please send it now!"

"He's here?" She looked around. "I didn't see him come in!"

"He was over there! Why did he hate them so much? You have to send it!"

"What did he say? Tell me what he said!"

"He wants me to come to the East! He said he didn't care about her and that you're a problem!"

"What? Me?"

"Yes! What happened between you? Why does he hate them so much?"

The SRP stepped back. "Did he mention it? Island 6?"

"Please send it now! Please!"

The SRP took out her phone. "I can send it, but my Council doesn't meet again until next month." She tapped on her phone for a minute, then stopped. "Wait. He came over to you? How did he know who you were?"

Mary felt her heart stop.

The SRP set down her phone. "How did he know, Mary?"

"Just send it!"

"Mary," the SRP grabbed her shoulders again. "How did he know?"

Mary couldn't speak.

"Mary!"

"I met him," she croaked. "Before. A few years ago."

"Why didn't you tell me that? When? Where was he?" The SRP was shaking her. "Was it on Island 6? Did you see him on Island 6?"

Mary shook her head.

"I'm not playing guessing games with you! Tell me!"

"At the academy." Mary tried to wiggle out of her grasp. "The executions. It was for our exam."

"He was sent for his execution? I knew Burns sent him down there!"

"Well…Hurricane Brandon was coming…," Mary searched for another story in her head. She tried to think of something else she could say.

"So, the executions were postponed? Is that what they did?"

Mary didn't reply.

"Dammit, Mary! Answer me!"

It all came bursting out of her in practically one breath. "He saw my tattoo! He kept telling me my grandmother would want me to do it! I don't know how he knew my name! He said my mother's name, too! He knows them! That's what he said!"

Mary steeled herself for the stream of vitriol from the SRP.

Instead, the SRP sat down on a bench and put her face in her hands.

"He said my grandmother would want me to let him go," Mary repeated, as if that would help. "I didn't know what else to do."

The SRP stared at her in silence for a few minutes. She slowly shook her head, then she started laughing. Then crying. A light laugh-cry that made Mary take few steps away from her.

"That son of a bitch," she said softly. "That twisted son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry." Mary felt a sob choke up her throat. "I thought the hurricane would kill him."

"He would have talked you into letting him go, one way or another. If not you, it would have been another cadet." She picked up her phone. "That's how he is. I'm sending it. My Council won't see it until next month and even then it's not a priority. When I get back, I'll try to push them."

Mary watched her cautiously. She hadn't expected this. Wasn't she going to at least scream at her for a few seconds?

"There," the SRP held up her phone. "It's done." She came over and put both her hands around Mary's face. "I shouldn't have brought you here. You and Hosteen are the most important things on earth right now. Albert and Melissa, too. I shouldn't have made you come."

"Can I go with the South Guards to get them? They won't know what's happening. They'll be scared."

"I need you where I can see you. And this isn't about your grandmother or your mother." She paused. "Kersh is after me. That's why he's doing this."

"Why? What happened between you?"

The SRP began pacing back and forth on the garden path. "I know exactly what he'll do. When we need to vote on anything, Burns will agree with Kersh. You should have seen Burns in the Center. He was practically falling all over himself, so happy that he's not another Avenham. That will leave me and Hosteen, but Hosteen will concede to please his Council. I'll be the one left. I'll be blamed for locking up everything. It'll ruin me. He wants to ruin me. He wants revenge."

Mary watched her. "Revenge for what?"

"He'll lock everything up that way, and everyone in the country will blame me, even though it's his fault. You'll see. That's exactly what he's going to do. My Council will pull me out, and as soon as I don't have the Presidency to protect me, he'll arrest me and send me to the Yukon!"

"Why? Please just tell me!"

The SRP sighed and sat back down. She tugged at the band of pearls around her wrists. "We left him in a prison. It was years ago. Gibson and me. We left him there."

Mary sat down next to her. "In a prison?"

"It was on Island 6. We were all there because of those men I told you about. They were using us. Trying to make us into hybrids that would dominate all the other ones. We were going to be under their complete control. We would have been like drones, no free will, no agency at all. But the Union came and they abandoned all of us. Gibson and I got out, but we left him behind. A few other people, too. We didn't know how he got out. He was in a locked cell, and we just left him."

"How did you and Gibson get out?"

"I saw all the passcodes once. They thought I was unconscious, but I saw them and memorized them."

Mary sat there for a moment. "Why didn't you just let him out?"

"Can't you see why?" The SRP snapped. "He's evil!"

Mary looked at her for a long while. "He said the things you've told me are all bullshit. That you're enjoying having me do your bidding, because of my grandmother."

The SRP stood up. "Don't you see what he's doing? He's going to turn you against me and you cannot, absolutely _cannot_ , listen to anything he says!"

Mary stood up, too. "Please let me go to get them out of the East. Let me bring them to the West. I can't leave Albert and Melissa. We can all stay at the house. We're protected."

The SRP looked like she was gearing up to argue, but then her posture fell. She sat wearily on the bench and put her face in her hands again. "One thing at a time, Mary." She sighed heavily. "Let's get the Council to approve the order. Then we'll figure out the logistics. I have some places on my estate, but I'm sure your grandmother will refuse to be anywhere near me."

Mary came closer to her, trying to keep her tone calm. "Please let me stay here. Please let me transfer. We can't care for or protect our children if we're separated."

The SRP looked up at the sky and made a sound of exasperation. "We'll talk about it later." She picked up her phone. "I'll see if Gibson can send a message to the Councilmembers close to his estate. If both of us put pressure on them, maybe they'll vote on it sooner."

Mary sat down next to her. That was the best answer she was going to get right now. At least the SRP wasn't stonewalling her again. Maybe she would relent after all.

"Thank you for sending it," Mary said quietly. "If something happens to them, if he does anything to hurt them, I'll never be able to forgive myself."

The SRP looked at her with pity. "You didn't know. He would have used any weapon he could to save himself." She stood up and began walking back indoors. "I think you should go back. Just go down the beach and walk back that way. It's not that far, is it?"

"No," Mary replied, feeling thankful. "I'll make sure Nathan and Linda know I'm coming back that way."

The SRP stopped to adjust her necklace and smooth down the sides of her lovely hair. "I need to go in and talk with him. Make it look like I'm not favoring Byers." She turned to Mary. "I know you pray sometimes, and please, when you say your next one, please pray for Byers. That crazy bastard is the only thing keeping us from a President Alvin Kersh."

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _South Region_

 _2050_

 _9:14pm_

Gibson sat in his office on his estate with Ava across the room.

The office was probably supposed to be the master bedroom, but he'd moved two desks into it. Both were littered with devices, papers, and take-out containers from dinner earlier. They'd been working for most of the day and into the evening. He was trying to make a dent in all the items that needed his approval while she watched the oldest people from the South Region in last year's parade.

"Is that Ernestine Valdez?" Ava asked, gesturing to the image on the screen. It projected into the middle of the room. "She's from the South?"

"Yeah." Gibson was reading a complaint from a citizen about his neighbors stealing his intellectual property. It sounded serious, and he didn't know why the court couldn't handle it. But as he scrolled down the page he saw the citizen was actually an immigrant with criminal status. The court wasn't going to hear his case, so apparently appealing to the Regional Secretary was this man's last resort.

"She's still the oldest woman, right?" Ava watched Ernestine on a float turning through the streets in the Center. It was decorated with the South Region symbols and flag. There was even a big plastic alligator, its jaws gaping, perched above Ernestine's seat. Her float was following along behind Ronnie Tecuanhuehue from the West. He was 101, laughing, alert, and hammy, waving like a movie star to the crowd.

"I think so." He stopped reading the complaint and tried to find something he could approve right now. Intellectual property was too complicated for tonight.

"I found two more women, just in case Ernestine dies before the Parade," Ava was saying. She picked up her tablet. "Betty Jean Abernathy, born 1950 and Shirley Collins, born 1951."

Gibson nodded, but he wasn't really listening. He saw another appeal from an actual citizen who'd attached video evidence to their complaint. Apparently they'd filmed an alligator chomping up their livestock. This person was Seminole-Creek. He was going to have to address this sooner than the rest.

He looked around the office, then got up and went to the largest window that faced the back of the estate. He'd ordered his staff to take out all the furnishings, burn them, and then bring in new ones before he arrived. He couldn't be sure what Byers' paranoia had caused him to do. There could be wiretaps or cameras in anything. He made some Guards come by to sweep the walls, floors, ceilings, and drain the pool out back. He still didn't feel completely safe.

One of the first official requests he sent to the Council was to have the Regional Secretary's estate relocated. He didn't like being out this far, and didn't know why the first South Region administration had done it this way. He was sure this place had belonged to a rancher. Or maybe even someone in the Cartel. None of them would ever come back looking for it, though. They were all hung from the Golden Gate Bridge almost thirty years ago. Mass executions went on for months during the transition. But that wasn't something he'd been around to see. He'd been underground for most of it.

He turned away from the window. His exhaustion and stress was making him see things. Particularly that terrifying woman in the car. He hadn't been sleeping well and got up most nights to turn all the lights on and load up a gun. He kept several hidden around his home, fearing she was going to burst through the doors any second. Plus, the image of Hosteen laying in the operating room. Even if that wasn't him, it was a terrible thing to see. And then there was Emily.

 _Emily._

All this time, he was beginning to think she was as mythical as an elf.

He sat back down at his desk and looked at the screen, but all he could see was her, looking at him through the glass. At first, he'd thought that was Scully. Emily was probably the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He should have stayed and talked to her, but he'd panicked. He was afraid he'd share news with her that wasn't his to share.

He'd also heard something in Hosteen's head before he left the West that he was hoping wasn't true. It wasn't clear. It was like someone whispering in a gust of wind. A whoosh of words that insinuated Hosteen might have made quite a sacrifice to keep his family safe.

"Looks like the oldest man in the South is Gavin Montrose," Ava said. "Born in 1954."

Gibson turned to look at her. He was a little irritated that he was supposed to find the oldest man and woman in the South. He'd delegated that to Ava, but she was involving him in it. Apparently it was a fun thing the Regional Secretaries got to do. This wasn't fun. It was annoying.

"Find a couple more just in case he dies or something," Gibson replied as he stared blankly at the computer screen.

He started thinking about Mary. He wished he could have stayed longer. If just to be around her and talk to her, but Hosteen was pissed he'd shown up. Gibson didn't want Hosteen dead in a train accident. As much as he envied Hosteen, he would never want something like that to happen to him. Never. He didn't deserve that. But he didn't like seeing them together with their children either. It just made the chasm between Mary and him wider. At least she was okay and so were her twins. When he wanted to stop thinking about that train accident, he thought about her. He hoped he'd fall asleep and maybe have another dream about her. That was the only place he could ever be with her.

He had to get the hell over it already. It was a lost cause; hopeless and pathetic. Mary had to be with Hosteen, like Linda told him. Why did Linda have to be right?

"His birth was in March of 1954," Ava sat down in front of the TV with the video of Ernestine still on. "There's another guy from that year. But it's September. I think? The Census is really confusing."

Gibson sighed. "And it's not going to change any time soon."

The Census of the NAU was absolutely confusing. They wanted to protect people's privacy, but they also wanted statistics on their citizens. Particularly since nearly half of those citizens were over sixty. Elderly care was a national concern. As was finding a way to accommodate an aging population in public and private facilities. The Census noted people's ages and their genders, but Census takers were banned from recording names or other identifying information. It was hard to find the oldest people without records, and even harder if they'd never committed a crime. Citizens over ninety had the option of reporting their birthdates, but that was only if they were in their right minds.

The video of Ernestine showed the float coming to a stop. She was holding a tablet with a slideshow of images of her throughout her life. She looked around at all the cameras with suspicion and puzzlement. Someone had tried to make her look nice by piling her long white hair in a bun on her head and dressing her in a sundress that looked like a tent over her shrunken frame. Her ancient hands were knotted with arthritis and trembled a little as she held the tablet. She looked like she had no idea what was going on.

A reporter seated herself next to Ernestine and turned to face a camera. "Good evening, I'm here with oldest woman in the NAU, Ernestine Valdez!" She turned to Ernestine. "Could you tell us a little about these pictures?"

Ernestine looked at the reporter like she didn't know what she was. She moved her wrinkled lips like she was trying to speak. Could she even hear?

The reporter was getting ready to ask again, but Ernestine sat forward suddenly and shouted: "Puta!" Then she spit in the reporter's face.

"Oh my God!" Ava gasped.

The reporter stood up with a shriek, wiping off her face. "Turn the camera off! That hag just spit at me! Turn the cam –"

The broadcast ended.

Ava laughed. "I don't remember that! Did they show that last year?"

"I think they took it out," Gibson replied, smiling slightly with amusement.

"I can't believe she did that!" Ava shook her head and laughed again. "Okay, so I'll make a note: no interviews for Ernestine."

"She was an oil heiress," Gibson stretched in his chair. "Her family lost everything when they sealed up all the wells. She hates everybody. Can't really blame her."

"I really wish they'd aired that, though. That was awesome."

"Maybe she'll finally die, and they can interview Betty Jean."

"I don't know about her either." Ava held up her phone showing a wild-haired, wild-eyed, toothless image of an elderly lady. It was a picture of her in a retirement village near the Mississippi. "She looks like she might kick a reporter's ass."

"Where'd you find that?" He vaguely remembered that retirement village. He didn't want to remember it.

"One of her great-grandkids posted it on their social media page. I added them and saw it. It's the only way I can find anything useful."

Gibson looked at his desk, and suddenly felt very tired. "I think I'm going to stop for tonight."

"Okay." Ava turned off the TV and began shutting down her tablet. "I meant to ask you, are there any special dates you want me to put in your calendar?"

Gibson scrolled through his phone. Scully was still messaging him, wanting to know how Mary and the twins were doing. She thought he was still in the West. "Like what?"

"Birthdays, anniversaries. Things like that."

He set his phone down. "No. Not really."

"I just thought like your parents. A relative or something. I can have something sent out for them on your behalf."

"I don't have parents. Or relatives."

Ava slid her tablet into her bag and gathered up some papers. "Everyone has parents."

He didn't answer her.

"Did they pass away?" She was still packing things up, but she was doing it too slow.

He went back over to the window. "Can you see if somebody can come out here and clean out that guest house? There's piles of wood in it."

When he'd opened it up the other day, he was confused at what Byers had been up to. There was literally just planks of wood piled up neatly all the way to the ceiling. God, that man was nuts. If citizens could elect an Avenham, it wasn't too impossible for them to elect a Byers. He hated how relieved that made him feel.

"Sure." She took out her phone to make a note. "What about the pool?"

He turned to look at her.

"You want it cleaned out, too?"

"I don't know. I asked the Council to move the estate over to the lake. I might not be here that long."

"That makes sense." She tapped on her phone for a minute. "Nice to have a pool, though. For when it gets really hot."

"I guess." He heard something bubbling up in her thoughts. She didn't want to leave yet. He watched her for a minute, slowly straightening up some files and neatly putting them in her bag. His curiosity was getting the best of him. "Do you have parents?"

She smiled. "Yeah. They live in the East. My brother lives here."

Gibson slowly walked over to her, watching her pack things away, and listening to her thoughts. They whispered through the air, hushed and soft, like a tip-toeing secret.

She was thinking about him.

Something that had always amazed him as a child: a person doing something ordinary while elaborate scenes played out in their heads. More than a daydream; more than a fleeting wish. The monologues and narratives that flowed through people's minds while they drove, talked with friends, or mowed their lawns were always far from the present.

He kind of didn't want her to leave now. The emptiness of another sleepless night in this house might swallow him up. "Just one brother?"

"Yeah. Older." She zipped up her bag. "Do you have a brother?"

"No."

The thoughts were silkier now, smooth like cream. She was hoping for something. Hoping he'd say something. He wasn't sure how to feel about it.

She put her bag on her shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning."

As she walked past him, he caught the scent of her perfume. It reminded him of someone from years ago and a not-so-profitable poker game.

"You can stay," he said suddenly, surprising himself and her. He shouldn't have said it like that. He cleared his throat. "I mean to work or whatever. I don't mind."

She looked at him, a tiny smile on her lips.

"I just meant I'm stopping for tonight, but if you have stuff to do," he gestured around the office. "I don't mind."

She hesitated in the doorway. "I don't really want to do anymore work tonight."

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. Maybe he hadn't heard what he thought. Clarity was still elusive, but he could work around that now. And what that typically meant when he could.

"Unless you need something tonight."

The thoughts came back. She was smooth with that double meaning.

Did he really want to play this game? He felt like he was gambling again. He stood directly in front of her, her perfume making him remember another time in his life.

"I think I need a lot of things." His voice was too quiet, and he didn't know why that came out of his mouth.

She looked him up and down, not hiding it at all. She was pretty in a way that unfolded slowly. Her features were generic, like women in commercials, pleasant but not stunning. There was something familiar about her, around the nose and lips.

"Well." She turned her body towards his. "I'm sure I can help."

He thought about Mary and Hosteen again. That always seemed to be the thing that came into his mind when he was faced with a situation like this. He could be miserable, wallow in unrequited love forever, and maybe drink a lot.

Or just find somebody else.

Ava set her bag down on the floor, slid her hands up his chest, and kissed him. It didn't really surprise him. The kiss was soft and innocent enough for him to either take a step back or want more.

She pulled away and looked up at him. "Is that what you need?"

Her eyes were like a silent sky at dawn, lightening with the sun. Not glowing. Just enough of a difference.

"I don't know if we should do this," he whispered.

She let out a tired sigh, and gently squeezed his arm. "You're probably right." She picked up her bag. "I'm sorry. I'll see you in the morning." She gave him a regretful smile, walked out of the room, and down the hall.

He listened to her footsteps fade. He stood there as still as a statue. He'd always started things the wrong way, one exception being Grace. A physical flash-in-the-pan before he was off to hide somewhere else. The only other exception he didn't want to think about, but that had also been short-lived. That's how it started and it just continued. He didn't know any different. What was the saying? Always doing things the same way leads to insanity? Something like that?

He had a flicker of himself, just shy of nineteen, running hand-in-hand with a young woman down a dark city street. There was a gash above her eye and a sequined barrette in her hair that fell out at some point. Their hands were wet and gummy with something they'd spilled on themselves. He couldn't remember what it was. The city began with a B. Baltimore. Boston. Birmingham. Boise? A squabble of radio from a cop car echoed behind them, and they broke out into a sprint. She led him down cracked sidewalks and graffiti into a house with five mattresses splayed on the floor and a fridge in the corner that was leaking foul-smelling liquid on the tile. She slammed the door and barricaded it with a chair. She said something to him about that being hot or she was hot. He replied with something idiotic that didn't really relate to what she meant. Something like – but it's cold, or I'm cold, aren't you cold, then she pushed him down on a mattress, flopped down on top of him, and took his clothes off. He had to tell her he'd never done this before, and she didn't believe him. He lasted barely two minutes, then told her he dropped something outside. He ran off and hid somewhere else that night.

It wasn't long after, he was caught for the last time. Dragged from his sleep by men dressed like cable repairmen into a van and a void began in his memories. He always remembered one of those men being Alex Krycek, but Alex had to have been dead by then. His face always seemed to be there anyway, like he couldn't resist crawling up from his fiery afterlife to watch Gibson suffer.

He went downstairs and stopped Ava before she opened the door.

"Can we just talk?" He asked her.

She looked down at her feet shyly and back at him.

"I just want to talk." He repeated. This was better. This was right. This was how it was supposed to start. "I'm not, um…I don't want it to begin like that."

"I'm sorry," she nodded upstairs. "I just thought...," she shook her head and sniffed out a laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking."

That's fine. He did.

He leaned forward just slightly enough to gently kiss her cheek. He smiled. "Now we can both feel awkward."

A pinkish flush blossomed on her skin. She studied his face. "You're hard to read."

"I don't mean to be."

This was probably a stupid thing to do, a stupid thing to start, but his list of stupid things to do could circle the earth twice.

"Sometimes I don't like being alone." He couldn't stop himself from saying it.

"No one does." She agreed with a slow nod.

He took a step back, retreating. "If you have to be somewhere…"

"I don't."

He didn't know what to do now. His mind was blank. Hers wasn't. She was taken with him. She didn't think he was a creep. She was waiting on him, though. Worried she'd come across sleazy if she tried anything again.

 _Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results._

That's what it was. He's insane.

Screw it.

He had his arms around her so quick she dropped her bag. Her mouth opened for his tongue as she pulled him into the next room. She fell back on the couch and he fell on top of her. The scent of her unleashed a flood of desire and desperation he hoped she wouldn't notice.

Maybe in his next life he'll get it right.

He wondered if he should have asked Ava to go for a walk instead, but her skirt was pulled up and he was inside her. Here it starts and ends too quick. A frenzied seventeen minutes on a couch he didn't like in a house he didn't want in a life he didn't ask for.

He was panting into her neck while she clenched his shoulders when he remembered the life he didn't ask for was never going to end.

* * *

 _The United States_

 _Reston, Virginia_

 _2017_

 _1:13pm_

"Brake lights, William! Brake lights! BRAKE LIGHTS!"

William slammed on the brakes as his father held onto the dashboard for dear life. The car behind them honked angrily and wove around them into the left lane to pass.

"It's like two miles away!" William exclaimed. He gestured to the car in front of them, way far ahead, tapping their brakes going around a curve.

"You have to slow down when you see that!" His father said as he rolled down the window, letting in a warm blast of air. "Didn't you see them slowing down?" He looked around. "You can't just sit in the middle of the road!" He grabbed at the steering wheel. "Turn off. Turn off to the right. Up here."

"Okay, okay! Let me do it!" William gently coasted the car to the side and pulled the parking brake.

They were on Route 7 towards Leesburg. His father thought he'd let William practice driving. He'd said there wouldn't be much traffic this time of day on a Sunday, and driving away from DC was safer. But William was a nervous wreck. His father had yelled at him from the moment they left the house – _Slow down! Yellow light! Watch where you're going! Turn signal! Slow down!_

"You're making me nervous!" William exclaimed. "Please don't yell. I can see the cars in front of me just fine. I'm not blind!"

"Okay, I know, I know," His father took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. "I'm nervous, too." He chuckled. "I think I sound like my dad now. He yelled at me, too."

William watched cars pass them. "Did he make you sit on the side of the road like a dork?"

His father pursed his lips and took out his phone. "You don't need to be a smart ass." He swiped on the screen. "This is new for me, too. Teaching my son to drive."

William looked over at him. "Sorry. You don't need to yell, though. Mom let me drive around Boston last month."

"Boston?!" His father looked up from his phone, shocked. "That's not even legal, is it?"

"If she's in the car with me."

"Oh, God." His father shook his head. "You're not sixteen yet. I don't think you're supposed to drive in city traffic until your sixteen. I think. Isn't there a law about that?"

"I don't know. She let me."

"Well, I don't know either. Boston? Jesus…," he shook his head. "Okay, put your turn signal on so people know your merging back on the road."

William flipped the signal and started to move forward. His father turned to look back.

"Okay, it's clear. Get back on the road."

William carefully turned the car back onto Route 7 and gently pressed the gas pedal.

"Okay, that's good," his father said. "The limit is 55, but don't go over 50."

"Why?"

"Because I said."

William huffed and got the car up to 50 and eased up on the gas.

They drove in silence for a little while and William sat close to the steering wheel like an old lady, bracing himself for the next time his father shouted something at him.

He was going to be one of the last kids in his class to turn sixteen. Even then, he wouldn't be able to drive much. Both his parents told him not to expect a car on his birthday. Or Christmas. Or ever. They said a car was something he would have to earn. His mother told him he should work in Boston for car money when he spent his summers with her. His father told him he could work after school in DC when he spent the school year with him.

William had it all figured out. If he wanted a nice, brand new car, he'd be working until he was thirty. He would have to settle for used but gently used. He'd started checking Craigslist the day he turned fifteen.

"So, we're just going up to Leesburg and coming back?" William asked, making sure there were no brake lights and that he was staying at 50.

"Yeah," his father replied, trying to watch the road while tapping on his phone.

William frowned. "If I can't have my phone, then you can't have yours."

"I'm the passenger. Watch the road."

William scowled. His father took his phone every time they drove and stuck it in his pocket. He didn't want William to ever think about looking at it when he was behind the wheel.

"Can I listen to some music or something?" William asked, sitting back a little bit.

"No. Maybe next time."

William sighed and continued to drive, embarrassed every time someone passed him. Couldn't he go just a little bit faster?

He glanced over at his father again. "You said your dad yelled at you, too?"

"Yep."

"So, was he like mean?"

"No," his father glanced up. "He was just really nervous to let his teenage son behind the wheel of a car. Plus, it made him feel old. Like I do right now."

William smiled. "You're not old."

William had never met any of his grandparents. No aunts, uncles, or cousins that he knew of. He'd spent time looking at pictures of both his grandfathers when they were his age, trying to figure out if he looked like them. Because William definitely did not look like either of his parents.

It wasn't glaringly obvious, but it was clear enough. His father was olive-skinned, lean, medium height with thick black hair and brown eyes. His mother was blonde-haired and brown-eyed, heavyset, and only an inch or two shorter than his father. William looked nothing like them. He'd been the shortest boy in his class until two summers ago when he hit a growth spurt. He hit another one this past summer and was now taller than his mother and father. His skin was fair, burned easily, and his blue eyes and brown hair didn't match either of his parents. And from what he'd seen of this grandparents, it didn't match them either.

He thought his appearance might change to be more like one of them as he grew older. His hair used to be more reddish than brown, so maybe it was just one of those things. But now he knew with absolute certainty he would never look like either one of them.

He was adopted.

It wasn't hard for him to think about. It made sense. It was logical.

William had wondered if and when they would have that talk. He'd Googled "how to tell your child they're adopted" just to see what he should prepare himself for. Because they had to tell him one of these days, didn't they? William thought they might do it over the summer. His father made plans to come up to Boston while he was staying with his mother. Their split had been amicable, so that wasn't entirely unusual. Neither of them said a thing, however. So, William wondered if it would be over the winter break. They were all planning to go up to the ski resort where his parents had a house for the holidays. Maybe they would tell him then.

William wouldn't be upset with them, but he did want to know if they knew who his biological parents were. William wondered about them constantly. Particularly his mother. Had she been a teenage runaway? An addict? Maybe she was really poor and couldn't afford a good life for him. The possibilities were endless. He'd started writing them all in a notebook about three or four years ago, like a scientist writing out hypotheses. He'd added things and crossed some things out. The notebook was nearly full now. A few times he'd left the notebook out for either of his parents to find, hoping that might open up the conversation. William didn't think he should be the one to bring it up. He didn't want to hurt their feelings. What if he wasn't adopted and his features just skipped a couple generations? It wasn't impossible. He'd Googled that, too.

As he drove along, he thought again about his birth parents. One thing he thought was possible was that they'd had a lot of kids already and gave him up because they couldn't afford anymore. He'd read a story about a couple that did that. William knew he was lucky. So many children ended up in foster homes until they were eighteen, never having the stability that William had, albeit with divorced parents. They still gave him a life he knew many orphaned kids would never know. He glanced over at his father again, thinking about how he could be in a foster home right now, not having a dad to teach him how to drive.

Even if his dad got way too nervous and yelled too much.

William heard his father's phone ring.

He swiped the screen. "It's David."

William had noticed his father on his phone a lot recently. He used to hate cell phones even though he was always on call for his job. He worked for the Department of Defense, but couldn't elaborate on what he did. He told William years ago to not mention it to his friends, but William bragged every chance he got. He had friends who had government parents, too, but none of them in the DOD. William liked feeling unique.

"I might be able to. I'm with my son. Is that okay?" His father said, looking out the window. "Yeah, he's fifteen now, almost sixteen. Can you believe that?" His father smiled over at William. "I know, I know. Learning how to drive."

There was a pause.

"On Route 7. Okay."

William tried to pay attention to the traffic, it had thinned out a little since leaving Reston. He checked his speed.

"Okay," his father repeated. "Okay. See you soon." He hung up and pointed to a road sign. "Take that next exit up here."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Just turn off up here. I'll tell you where to go."

William took the next exit and sat up against the steering wheel again. Getting off the highway made him nervous. The highway was easy, just a straight line, no turns, no surprises.

"Alright," his father said. "Take a right at the sign and drive down a little ways."

William took a right and drove slowly down a country road. A train went along on the right side, _Norfolk Southern_ printed on the side with a silhouette of a horse. It was distracting. At least there was no one behind him.

They drove a long for a few miles, then his father directed him to take the next left. They were getting further and further out into the countryside. At least it was a nice view. The deep green leaves of late summer were starting to show signs of fall. His father made him take a few more turns until they were out in the wilderness. The state border to Maryland couldn't be too far away. The unmarked road made William more nervous.

"You're doing good," his father reassured him. "This is good practice, too. Watch that curve up here."

William slowed down, probably slower than needed, as the road carved deeper into the woods. "Where are we going?"

"Just pull up right here."

"Where?" William slowed, looking around.

"Right here." His father pointed to a gravel driveway, winding into the woods. Parked at the end was a Dodge Ram. A stocky man stood outside of it wearing a baseball cap, a sweat-stained T-shirt, and cargo shorts.

William liked the truck. He wondered how much money he'd have to save up for a truck like that.

His father got out of the car.

"Hey, David!" The man smiled, shaking his father's hand. He waved at William and William waved back even though he didn't know who that guy was.

His father and the man stood there talking for a few minutes. William wanted to get his phone back. He was getting bored. Why were they all the way out here?

After a few minutes, William saw another truck coming down the road in the rearview mirror. At first, it just looked like the one person driving it, but as it came slowly by, William saw there were men and women in the back.

He thought they looked strange, like weird country people, but then he quickly saw they were not like any country people he'd ever seen. They all wore surgical masks across their mouths and noses. Around all their eyes was thick, black eyeliner, as if each one of them had just stood in front of a mirror and drew circles around their eyes several times with a marker.

The truck turned onto the gravel road and drove into the woods, the people regarding his father and the guy he was talking to with some nods and waves. His father and the guy waved back. A few minutes later another truck came down the opposite way, more people with surgical masks and eyeliner in the back. The truck went down the gravel road.

William really wanted his phone. He thought a picture of that was worth sharing. It was too weird not to share.

William rolled the window down. "Hey, dad! Give me my phone."

His father held up his finger, telling him to hold on while that guy talked to him.

"Rushing always leads to mistakes," the guy was saying to his father. "We can bide our time. I like having all my T's crossed and I's dotted, you know?"

"Yeah," his father replied. "You guys are patient. I could never be this patient."

"Just consider it," the guy leaned back on his truck, crossing his arms. "That's why everybody else fails. They can't wait. We can wait."

"Yeah, but until when? When do you stop waiting?" His father frowned and glanced back at William. He lowered his voice. "My son can't grow up in this. It's all gone to Hell. It's only going to get worse."

"The darkest hour is just before dawn," the man answered.

"You know how many times I've heard that? Dawn never comes."

William got out of the car and went over to his father. "Can I have my phone?"

His father handed it over and William walked up the gravel road to look for the weird country people. Why did they look like that? He didn't really know what his father and the man were talking about. Probably political stuff. His father had a great interest in politics. Not just the US. He often read up on Canadian and Mexican politicians, too. He'd been a teacher before joining the DOD. One of his subjects had been Government.

William could see the outline of a few buildings as he slowly walked up the gravel road. His father's and the man's voices faded as he scrolled through his phone and opened up the camera. He probably shouldn't be taking any pictures. What if this was some kind of secret government facility? All the more reason to take some and brag to his friends.

After a minute, he noticed he couldn't hear their voices anymore. The rustling and chirping in the woods went completely quiet. There was no sound at all.

He stood still and put his phone in his pocket.

Something didn't feel right.

He turned to walk back, but saw there was no gravel road. It was gone. He was standing in the middle of the woods like he'd just been dropped here out of the sky.

"Dad!" He yelled. His voice didn't even echo.

What the hell just happened?

He rubbed his eyes. This was a dream. He was dreaming right now. It had to be. He always had dreams like this; started out normal then quickly went wrong. He stayed still and waited for himself to wake up. If he just stayed still everything would be okay.

The air thickened with electricity. It made him feel stiff. There was a rustling behind him. He turned to see a redheaded girl standing by a tree, a black liquid leaking out of her eyes.

" _William!"_ She screamed.

* * *

William sat up, nearly falling off the sofa.

His face was drenched. He rubbed it fitfully and looked around. He saw his phone lighting up and vibrating like crazy on the coffee table. It buzzed off the edge and onto the rug. He picked it up and saw it was his mother calling. His real mother. The dream was over. Thank God.

What time was it? He looked around at the dark room and answered. "Mom?"

"Is Emily home?" She sounded frantic.

"I don't know." He looked around to see what time it was. "I haven't seen her." He rubbed his face again.

"Can you go check?" It sounded like she was moving around her house. There was a rattle like pots and pans.

"Why?" He was disappointed she wasn't calling to talk to him. He thought about the story of Jacob and Esau. Paul told him once when they were shoveling hay out of horse stalls. William knew which child he was in his mother's eyes. He might as well be. If she had to hate one of them, it might as well be him.

"Just please go check. I haven't heard from her and we were supposed to meet today."

William sighed heavily and got up. "She's probably at the hospital. She has overnight shifts sometimes." He put on his shoes and went out the door. "Why are you calling me?"

He went outside and saw Emily's car was gone. Her windows were dark.

"Because you live there!" His mother snapped. She sounded really upset.

"Look, I don't know where she is," he replied crossly. "She's not home. She's probably with – " He stopped before he said it. He didn't know if Emily had shared that news yet.

"I already called him," his mother replied tersely. "He didn't answer. There's a hurricane."

"She told you?" He sat down on his front step. It was freezing out, but he wasn't cold.

"Yes." She sounded calmer now. "That hospital just keeps transferring me around. Can you just go make sure she's there? I know she has long shifts and it's probably okay. It's just not like her to call me first."

He sighed, his breath puffing out in front of him. "I'll go in the morning."

"Please go now. I want to make sure she's okay."

A jolt of envy shook him. She wanted to know if Emily was okay, not him. Not her son. It wasn't him she wanted to protect and love. It wasn't him she wanted to call and find out how he was doing.

"Fine." He barked into the phone. "By the way, I really love you, and I miss you. Not that you give a shit. I'll call you later."

He hung up and immediately felt awful for saying that. He felt like he didn't have the right to expect anyone to love him. Not after the things he'd done. He seemed to just screw up people's lives. That seemed to be the only reason he'd been born. Didn't he screw up his parent's lives? Isn't that why they gave him up?

He went inside to get his keys, got in his car, and began driving off. The clock on the dash read 12:51am. He thought about his dream and his adopted father teaching him how to drive. It was kind of funny now that he yelled so much. William did the same with his kids because that wasn't easy. Teaching three kids at once how to drive. Good God. He thought for sure Eve would give him a heart attack.

He hadn't spoken to either of his adopted parents in a long time. They told him when they divorced they both loved him and it wasn't his fault. He didn't think that at the time, but these days he did. Might as well be.

He was going to turn on the radio, but his phone rang through the speakers and he saw it was his mother again. He tapped the steering wheel to answer it. "I'm on my way."

Her voice was calmer. "Thank you."

"I'm sure she's fine. Just a long shift. They guilt her into it sometimes."

His mother was quiet.

"I'll call you when I get there." He was getting ready to hang up.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He came to a stoplight. The streets were in late-night mode and the traffic signs had switched to guide any cars into lighted areas. "I'm sorry, too." He felt foolish when his eyes began to sting.

"I do love you, William." Her voice was hushed coming through the speakers. "And I miss you, too."

He wished he knew that for sure. He wished she would say it without him being an ass first. Emily was the favorite. Emily had come before him and her life had been more tragic. That was why their mother cared more about her. It wasn't hard to figure out.

"I'd like to see you soon," his mother said. Her voice sounded controlled, like she was crying and didn't want him to know.

"Okay. This week?" He thought he might start crying in a second and would have to do the same.

"Yeah, just let me know what day so I can report it." She was definitely crying.

He slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's not that."

"I made mistakes. I did things. I'm sorry about all of it." A tear slid down his cheek. "He forgave me. I just wish you would, too."

"William…"

"You're my mother. I don't know you, and you're my mother!" His voice cracked at the end, and he covered his mouth so she wouldn't hear.

There'd been a distance between them that was as old as Mary and as big and cavernous as the Universe. He didn't want it to be there, and maybe he should have tried harder. Nothing to be done about it now.

"You're right," she said softly. "Just come by when you can." She paused. "I'm tired. I should try to get to sleep. Tell Emily to call me."

He could picture her sitting at her kitchen table, her red hair neatly tucked behind her ears, a silky robe tied around her. Her laptop was probably open like it usually was, the TV on but muted. His father had done that, and she kept doing it. William felt like she did it out of habit, as if she were afraid if she stopped she'd forget about his father. She slept on the couch for the longest time after he died, the TV on and silent. She tried, in many small ways, to keep him alive.

"Okay," he said. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, William."

"Hold on." He shifted in his seat and wiped his eyes. He thought of something now that he had her.

"What?"

"How do you know Gibson Praise?"


	32. Chapter 32

_The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2050_

 _10:25am_

Simon got out of the car and spat on the pavement.

There wasn't much pavement to spit on. This street was littered with potholes, gravel, roadkill, and a few fallen trees. It looked like the residents had tried to move the trees out of the road, but they'd had to drive around them anyway. Down at the dead end was a rusty NAU Postal Service sign, tilted back with a locked metal box underneath it.

"Don't spit! What's wrong with you?" One of the Intelligence Analysts snapped. He didn't really know her name. She'd said it, but he wasn't listening. In his head he called her something that wasn't very nice. "You want to be sent to the coast?"

Simon gave her the most evil look he could manage.

"Have some class," she growled as she went towards the house, followed by the other two Analysts. He wasn't sure of their names either. He really hadn't listened to a thing they'd said to him.

It was probably the five millionth house they'd been to that morning. At least that's what it felt like. He wasn't familiar with the terrain of the East, so the ride up had made him carsick. The roads curved around mountains, and the sharp turns and elevation made him feel as if he'd been on a merry-go-round going too fast. The roads were in terrible condition, too, so it hadn't been a smooth ride. He'd seen an old sign at one point, upside down in a ditch, the word _Nimitz_ still visible over a rusty green.

The searches went by pretty quick considering all they had to do. He found it interesting at first, but since all he did was stand around with his gun to make sure none of the Old Republicans resisted, he'd grown bored and restless hours ago. Simon shifted his gun on his shoulder and tried not to get too angry. His temper had gotten him into quite a bit of trouble since his arrival.

First, he smashed his phone when he saw that James Byers was running for ERP. Not because he was upset that Kersh might not win, but it meant his new rank – guaranteed by Kersh's recruiter – wasn't going to happen.

So, the second thing he did was storm into the Lieutenant's office, demanding to be promoted to Sergeant Major – _now!_ It was the only reason he'd come over to this shithole, he'd shouted. He'd left his family, the Region of his birth, and severed all ties to the West Guard to come here! He hadn't done all that just to stay a Corporal! The Lieutenant wasn't pleased with Simon's tone so he sent Simon to the coast to cool down.

He quickly discovered the East Region coastline was worse than the South. Gasmasks and protective clothing weren't enough. The stench from the coast started when they were still hundreds of kilometers away. Once they were out there, visibility was low, even on the sunniest of days, so they had to wear night-vision goggles. Unlike the South, the East Guard had special squads designated for coast duty every other day. They rotated everyone through, but the troublemakers – like him – were sent out the most. He hadn't done anything like this in years. The West Coast wasn't like this.

It was on his second day that a mutated shark washed up on the beach. It had growths all over it, six fins, no eyes, and more teeth than he'd ever seen on a shark before. One of the East Guards in his squad wasn't paying attention, thought the thing was dead, and got his leg bitten clean off. Simon had panicked and froze, like a coward, while the other Guards stabbed and shot that thing to death and carried the injured Guard, screaming like a madman, to the helicopter. It was hard to tell in the night-vision goggles, but the blood that came out of that shark didn't look natural. It was…chunky. It looked like sewage.

As soon as Simon was safe in his dorm that evening, he'd thrown up repeatedly from the whole ordeal. He didn't sleep at all. It was one of the most disturbing and frightening things he'd ever seen. So, the third thing he did was refuse to go back the next day. Outright refused. Locked himself in his room, swore at his commanding officer from behind the door, and didn't leave until the next morning.

He was sure he was going to be discharged, and as angry as he was he was almost wishing for it, but instead the Lieutenant was making him do this: follow around Intelligence as they went from house to house, searching Old Republican homes.

Simon had thought nothing could be worse than being on the coast, but this was somehow just as bad. This was a depressing place to be and the people were even more depressing. They were not about to resist so Simon didn't know why he had to be here. Most of them looked like they were under the influence of something. Worn out, defeated, and bullied they'd all but given up. Thank God his grandparents never had to endure this or live here.

The Analysts knocked on the door of a dilapidated one-story. One of the windows had been replaced by particle board. There was a slimy stain on the siding and the roof was caving in. It looked like poison ivy was growing all over the front yard. Simon tried not to touch it as he followed along.

The Analysts had to knock one more time before a bleary-eyed white guy opened the door. He looked relatively young, probably in his fifties, the youngest Simon had seen so far. Most of these people were sixty-plus. The man stood in his doorway, stone-faced, while one of the Analysts read the statute. Simon felt like he could recite it from memory now.

There weren't that many statutes and they were very short and to the point. Simon had to memorize all fifteen in school and recite them in class. He didn't remember them so well now, even though the NAU Guard was in one. He couldn't recall if it was nine or ten. The statue cited here was number four. One was the right to privacy. Two defined citizenship. Right to unlimited access to firearms was five or six.

The man let them inside to a junkyard. There were bottles, cans, and paper bags all over the floor. Simon saw a coffee table on its side, two of the legs broken off. The man's TV was on the floor, a crack across the screen, distorting the picture. Next to it, the man had tied the coffee table legs together with a few more pieces of wood to prop up the ceiling. The man screwed off the cap of a big plastic jug and upended it in his mouth as he flopped down on a worn-out sofa. Simon didn't see any other types of furniture. He spotted a bucket full of urine nearby. Did his toilet not work? Or was he too drunk to make it that far?

There was a red and white flag hanging in the kitchen. Simon recognized it as the former Canadian flag. It looked clean. Brand new. He thought those were illegal, but some of the Old Republicans kept symbols of their former countries in defiance. Just this morning Simon had already seen the flags of Cuba, Jamaica, Mexico, and several of the United States. How they'd all ended up in this part of the East he wasn't sure.

He wondered why they didn't just leave the country. They technically could, but with so many impromptu searches, no access to cash, and having to report every little place they went it was difficult. He'd heard some went south to Guatemala and some hid on boats to the Japanese colony of Hawaii. At first, Guatemala didn't mind the border crossings so much. Then they minded a lot. Their government was spending billions on a border wall, with Belize following suit, which would be finished in 2052.

"Network password." One of the Analysts ordered.

The man didn't answer. Simon had thought they couldn't password protect anything, but apparently they could, just not from the government. At least he was learning some things while he was here.

"Network password!"

The man mumbled something and drew a horizontal figure eight with his finger.

"Infinity?"

The man grunted and drank from the plastic jug again.

Simon relaxed a little. This guy wasn't going to put up much of a fight in his condition.

The Analysts got right to work, unconcerned about all the trash, and set up their equipment. Most of the homes were unkempt. Some he'd seen were worse than this guy's place. Simon had guessed that with nothing better to do the Old Republicans would have kept up their homes better, but they did just the opposite.

Simon stood in the front room while the Analysts worked. The two male Analysts hoisted the Canadian guy from the sofa and dragged him into the bedroom and shut the door. At first, Simon had been confused about what they were doing. It was some sort of exam, but not a medical kind of exam. One of the Analysts explained to him that it was to make sure they weren't hiding anything on or in their bodies. It was also to ensure none of them were getting surgeries to remove distinguishing features reported in the registry. No new tattoos, or removed tattoos, or altered tattoos. No additional scars or removal of birthmarks. Really, it was just to punish them. Just to make sure they knew they'd never be able to hide anything and that they had no rights; even over their own bodies.

About forty minutes later, Simon left the house with the Analysts. They got in the car and one leaned towards the woman and said, "I found a disturbance in the back."

"Like a hole?" She asked.

"Like a tunnel. I didn't see where any of the ground was dug up, but there was a hollow spot in his basement wall. Looks like the bricks have been moved and then put back."

"You think he's digging a tunnel? To where?" She gestured outside. "There's nothing out here."

"I don't know, but I sent the scans in."

"Was it there last time?"

"Nope. I checked."

"Should we go back in?"

The man turned to look at Simon. "We're going to hit this house again on our way out. Remind me. It was just water in that jug. Something's not right with him. Make sure your weapon's loaded."

Simon rolled his eyes. Who cared if the Canadian guy dug a tunnel under his house? Where was he going to go? China?

They drove a little ways down the street to another house. This one was an ugly green. It looked well-kept on the outside, however. The bushes in the front were trimmed. The windows were in good repair despite their age.

Simon followed the Analysts to the door, they knocked, and a red-headed woman answered.

She looked familiar. And really young. Maybe early thirties.

They read the statute to her while she stood there, looking just as stone-faced as the Canadian guy. When they went inside, Simon was surprised to see how neat her house was. Everything polished, dusted, and put away. There were pictures of three blonde kids, one boy and two girls, on the walls. He saw a couple pictures of them as preteens on a shelf. He got a feeling, eerie, like déjà vu.

"Network password."

"Spooky," the woman said with disinterest, sitting down at her kitchen table.

Simon stared at her. She looked really familiar.

He peeked over the shoulder of one of the Analysts at their tablet. They had a grid that showed all the homes in this area with the resident's names, but the Analyst had already pulled up the scanning software.

Simon looked around again, trying to find something with her name. Instead he was stunned to see a picture of his own grandmother, younger and with shorter hair, with the red-headed woman. It looked like it had been taken long before he'd been born. Maybe even before his father had been born.

Holy shit.

He stared at her wide-eyed. _She's_ Mary's grandmother? He'd only seen her for a minute, years ago, when his grandfather died. She looked exactly the same. Exactly. How in the hell? How in the literal hell did she look this young? She had to be in her eighties. He shouldn't be that surprised, but he was.

She cut her eyes over towards him, frowning, and he quickly looked away. He had not expect to see her, even though Mary told him she lived here. Now that he was closer to her he could see the resemblance between them. Who were the three kids, though? Did Mary have cousins? She'd never mentioned any.

Just then a door opened down the hall and a pink-haired girl came shrieking into the room. "What's happening?!" She looked around at the Analysts. "What are they doing?"

"It's fine," Scully replied, getting up from the table. "Just go back to sleep."

"They can just come in here like this?" The girl had several piercings in her face. Simon realized she was one of the girls in the pictures. She was pretty, but she looked like she was trying not to be. It also looked like she'd been sick. Her eyes were puffy and her skin was pale.

"Get out!" She shrieked at the Analysts and they ignored her.

Scully went over to her and led her back down the hall. "I said it's fine! Go back to bed!"

"It's not fine! Why are they doing this?" The girl ran over to the back door to scream at the Analyst out in the yard. "Hey! Hey you! You son of a bitch!"

"Go back to bed, Esther!" Scully pulled her away from the door. "Just go lie down! They'll be done in a few minutes!"

Simon felt uncomfortable. Should he step in? Did this count as resisting?

Esther pulled away from Scully and came over to him. "Why do you have a gun? She's not armed! How can you pull a gun out on her?"

Simon bristled. "I'm not…I'm not pulling it out…I'm just – "

Scully tried to shush the girl, but she wasn't having it. "Get that gun and your worthless ass out of here!"

Scully yanked her down the hallway and took her into a bedroom.

"Bunch of clowns!" The girl screamed. "Bunch of motherfu –"

Scully pushed her into the bedroom and shut the door. He stood at the end and heard Scully fussing at her, trying to keep her voice down. Scully finally came out and shut the door again.

She glared at him. "I'm sorry. She's my granddaughter. She hasn't been feeling well."

Simon didn't answer as she walked past. He watched her sit back down at the kitchen table. Granddaughter? That girl had to be Mary's cousin, but why hadn't Mary ever mentioned her? He warily went over to Scully. She was scrolling on her phone. He didn't know what to do besides just stand there and stare at her. He felt like he should say something.

After a couple minutes, she realized he was standing next to her. She hatefully looked up at him. "I _did_ report it." She held up her phone. "See? Esther Mulder."

Oh, the girl was Esther.

Mulder?

Wait. What?

Simon didn't look at her phone. He cleared his throat. "I'm, um…I know you. I mean, you've never met me, but…" he nodded to the picture of her with his grandmother. "My name's Doggett."

Scully's eyes widened and she slowly stood up. "Jack?"

Simon smiled. "Jack's my dad. I'm Simon. Simon Doggett."

Scully blinked a couple times and looked him over.

"I don't know if you remember me from my grandfather's funeral, but I was there. I was really little though."

She shook her head as she gawked at him.

"I remember you – um, you were there for her." He nodded to the picture again. "She had a really hard time after that. Started smoking again. Well, vaping. Whatever. She says it's not as bad, but my dad gives her a hard time."

Scully still said nothing. He was starting to get anxious.

"Mary said you lived here," he continued. "I'm sorry that we, or they, have to do this. I didn't know. I didn't know about it. I got sent here – "

"Mary?" She interrupted with a frown. "How do you know Mary?"

"I met her at the academy. We, um…," he paused, thinking of how he should put it. "We were good friends."

She looked around at the Analysts doing their work, not paying much attention to them, then back at him. She smiled faintly. "You look like him."

"My dad? Did you get to meet him?"

"No. John."

"Oh," he smiled. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I never met your father. She just sent me pictures," Scully looked around again, and tilted her head towards the back door. "I need to go out to the cellar."

He frowned. "Okay."

She started to walk off, then turned around, giving him a look to follow her. He followed her outside, where one Analyst was scanning her backyard. "Is that girl Mary's cousin? She didn't – "

"Take out your phone." Scully whispered urgently.

"What?"

"Take it out."

Simon took his phone from his pocket.

"Pretend like you're making a report."

He looked at her, confused.

"Make a report."

"I don't know how to do that. This is my first day."

She looked over at the Analyst. When his back was turned she grabbed his phone, typed on it for a second, and handed it back to him. "Mary's mother, Emily, is missing."

Simon looked at her, surprised. "Missing like how?"

"Look down at your phone. Not at me." She ordered.

Simon looked down at his phone. There was a giant X on the screen with a couple of numbers underneath it.

"I want you to show that to your grandmother," Scully whispered. "Don't send it to her. Show it to her in person, okay?"

"Why?"

"You have a clearance, right?"

"Yeah."

She stepped closer. "I ran out of travel time for the month. We've already been to the clinic and the hospital where she works. We made a report, but they haven't found anything yet."

Simon looked up quickly and back at his phone. Who was we? Was Mary here?

"I spoke to all the other surgeons there that day. They said she just ran out of the operating room and didn't come back. There's cameras in the OR and in the waiting area. Can you get the footage or at least look into it?" She quickly looked around again. She was whispering so fast he could hardly keep up with it. "I don't trust them to investigate thoroughly. Because of who I am and she's an immigrant."

Simon stood stock-still, trying not to look up from his phone. "What does this mean? The X and the numbers?"

"She'll know what it means. And please show it to her in person. Do _not_ send it."

Simon was starting to sweat a little bit. "Okay. I'll show her."

"Will you look into it, please? They've opened up a file, I'm sure."

"Okay, yeah. I'll see what I can do." He was nervous as hell now. Did Mary know her mother was missing? Should he say something to her, with a baby on the way and all? He still wasn't sure if his suspicions about her and Hosteen were correct. Did Scully know if he was the father?

He cleared his throat. "Um…have you talked to Mary?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"She, um, I mean…she's…she's, um – "

He was interrupted by a commotion from inside. Shrieking and hollering.

"Ms. Scully!" the female Analyst poked her head out the back door. "Can you please control that girl? If she disrupts the search one more time, we'll have to take her with us!"

Scully mumbled something under her breath and went inside. Simon walked in behind her to see Esther kicking and slapping the male Analyst. He was holding up his tablet as a shield.

"Get out of here!" She cried. "Get the hell out of here!"

Simon grabbed Esther and pulled her out of the front door. He stood in front of it so she couldn't get back in.

"Why are you doing this?!" Esther shouted at him. "Why can't you leave her alone?"

"You can't hit them!" Simon shouted back. "You think that's going to help anything?"

"She doesn't deserve this!"

"You're staying out here until they leave!" He thought about holding his gun, to be more intimidating, but he didn't want Esther to think he was scared of her. And he was. Just a little bit.

Esther clenched her fists. "What are you going to do? Shoot me!"

It was hard to believe she was related to Mary. Why had Mary never mentioned her? "Are you Mary's cousin?"

She unclenched her fists. "Mary?"

"Yeah. Are you cousins?"

Esther came closer to him, her eyes getting bigger. They were pretty eyes, he noted. Beauty was certainly genetic in this family.

"Who are you?" She asked. "How do you know her?"

"I'm Simon Doggett. I met her at the academy."

" _You're_ Simon!" She gasped.

"Yeah. She mentioned me?"

Esther looked him over for a second. "Yes," she said primly. "She certainly did."

"Have you talked to her? Does she know about her mom?"

Esther came over to him like she wanted to tell him something. He leaned forward slightly. Suddenly, her hand came up and he felt her knuckles smashing into his cheek.

He staggered back from the blow. "Shit! Shit!" He grabbed his face.

She turned and ran towards the back of the house and he ran after her, clenching his aching jaw. Esther ran right into Scully coming out of the cellar.

"He threatened to shoot me!" Esther cried.

"No, I didn't!"

Scully grabbed Esther by her shoulders. "You have to calm down!"

"He said he'd shoot me!"

"I didn't!" Simon exclaimed, clutching his jaw. "I swear, I didn't!"

"Get back inside." Scully took her in the house.

Simon stood in the yard, rubbing his face. What a mouth on that girl! And what a fist! He could see through the window at the Analysts packing up and Scully marching Esther to the back of the house. Her little fit had certainly made the Analysts move faster.

"Let's go," the female Analyst ordered as she came out of the house. "We'll tag it for a better search next time."

Simon wanted to go back in. He wasn't finished talking to Scully, and he wanted another glimpse of Esther.

"You coming?" The Analyst called to him.

He got back in the car and thought about when he could take leave to see his grandmother. This was important. He wondered if he could take leave at all since he was technically being punished. Should he tell Mary about all this? What if she didn't know?

As they drove off, they passed the Canadian guy's house. Simon let them keep driving. He kept his mouth shut and didn't remind them to go back.

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _West Region_

 _2050_

 _10:11pm_

As soon as Mary was back at the house, she ran for a bag in her closet and started throwing clothes in it. With a few shirts still hanging out of the top, Mary went into the twins' room and starting counting out what she would need.

The trip to the East and back would only take a couple of hours. She'd be spending more time trying to convince her grandmother to leave and waiting on her to pack her things. And her mother, too…she might not even be home. She could be in the middle of surgery. Would they let Mary in to see her?

How long would it all take? She looked around the twins' room with nothing but a night-light to see by. They would be back by this time tomorrow, wouldn't they? She was not going to wait on the South Council. She needed to get them here. Now!

"Mary?" Nurse Owens poked her head in the room.

Mary ignored her and started folding up blankets and clothes.

"What are you doing?" Nurse Owens came in quietly.

"What does it look like?" Mary replied. She went back down the hall to her bedroom and stuffed more clothes in a duffel bag. She felt scatterbrained. She couldn't start or finish anything. She went back into the twins' room.

"Are you going somewhere?" Nurse Owens asked.

Mary pulled a diaper bag from a shelf and began packing it.

"Mary, you shouldn't be taking the babies anywhere. It's dangerous."

"Well, I can't leave them here!"

"Where are you going?"

Mary looked around. The twins were sound asleep. They would be up at eleven. Usually after she fed them at eleven they would stay asleep until four or five. Would they stay asleep on the train? "I'm going to the East." Mary ran back to her bedroom to change out of her uniform. "We'll be back by this time tomorrow. They'll be two more people staying here."

She shut her bedroom door to change, but Nurse Owens opened it and barged right on in. "Mary, if you're going to take the babies out of this house, then someone needs to go with you."

"Fine, then you come." Mary took off her uniform and dug in her closet for some casual clothes.

"Does the SRP know what you're doing?"

"It's none of her concern. My family has nothing to do with her." She looked at her phone and browsed for the train schedule.

"What about him? Shouldn't your husband know where you're going?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He was surrounded by people. I'll send him a message when I get there!"

She looked around again. What else would she need? A gun. She'd need a gun. The Taurus was perfect. She could stow that in her duffel bag.

Nurse Owens gently tugged at her arm. "I don't think you should be doing this. It's dangerous. What if someone sees you?"

"They won't! It's late. Who would see me?"

"A Guard out of uniform. A Councilmember. Anyone could see you with two babies."

Nathan came down the hall. "Is everything okay?"

"Why don't you get one of them to go?" Nurse Owens suggested.

"Them?" Nathan frowned at her.

Mary looked at him hopefully. That was a good idea. Maybe Nathan or Linda could go with her. An extra person with a gun would be helpful. "Can you come to the East with me?"

"What? Why?"

"I can't really explain it right now, but I have to get my grandmother and my mother. I have to bring them here. Will you help me?"

"Why are you bringing them here?" He looked around the house. "I don't think two more people can stay here. It's a little small for that."

"They have to!" Mary shouted. She heard Melissa start crying, and Mary went over to her. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry." Mary picked her up. Albert would start any second now.

Nurse Owens and Nathan looked at her pitifully. Why won't they help? Mary felt like crying herself. She had to get them here. It would be so much better, so much safer if they were all here.

"Why do they have to?" Nathan asked quietly.

Mary did not have time for all these damn questions! Albert started to cry, and she went over to his crib to pick him up. "I can't explain it right this second." She shifted Melissa to one arm and lifted Albert with the other. "I'll tell you on the train ride. I promise, but can you come with me? Linda can stay here, right?"

Nathan exchanged a glance with Nurse Owens. "Tell me where your mother and grandmother live, and we'll go get them."

"You can't leave us here without protection!" Nurse Owens interjected.

"Then I'll go. Where do they live?"

" _I_ have to go!" Mary insisted. "It has to be me. They don't know you. They'll be scared."

"Can you call them?"

"I don't have time!" Mary felt tears streaming down her face. "I have to go! Now!"

"Mary, we'll help you, but you have to be reasonable," Nurse Owens said. "The babies can't travel that far and back. It'll be too much for them. Let him go. He'll bring them here."

"It has to be me," Mary wailed. "Because it's my fault! It's all my fault!"

Nurse Owens came to take the twins from her arms, and Mary crumpled to the floor a crying mess. This was her fault. This was all her fault. Her mother and grandmother were going to have to leave their homes because of her. And if they didn't Kersh would find them - if he hadn't already.

What was it Kersh had said to her on the beach that day? It wasn't him. He wasn't the one. He'd said that when he thought Mary was her mother. What hadn't he done to her? And what had someone else done? Was he lying? Oh, God…why hadn't she just killed him? Mary wished so much she could see her mother right now. She wanted to tell her how sorry she was. For everything. For marrying a man that wasn't Catholic and having babies with him and not letting her mother be there for any of it. She was going to be so upset and disappointed that Mary hadn't told her. Albert and Melissa were her first grandchildren.

Nurse Owens shooed Mary out of the twins' room while she calmed them. Nathan took Mary into the kitchen and sat her at the table. When Nurse Owens joined them, Mary told them what happened. This was the second time tonight she had to tell this story and it wasn't getting any easier. She felt far worse than when she'd told the SRP.

When she finished, Nurse Owens put a blanket around her and Samantha came out of her dog bed and lay her head on Mary's lap. She felt calmer, but she was wasting time. Her mother and grandmother were not safe. They should see that now, at the very least.

Nathan looked at her for a long while before he spoke. "I think you should go, and I'll come with you. But leave the twins here."

"I don't want to leave them," Mary insisted. "I can't leave them."

"It'll just be for one day. Linda will be here. She won't let anything happen to them." He paused. "And you should talk to Leonard. He should know about this."

"I can't tell him this," Mary mumbled.

"He's your husband," Nurse Owens patted her hand. "You have to be honest with your husband."

And Mary certainly hadn't. There was much more Leonard didn't know, and she couldn't tell him. She just couldn't. What would be the point? "There's no proof. I threw Kersh's wristband into the ocean, so they counted him as dead. And all his Old Republican stuff was erased. There's no proof of his past anywhere."

"Except for your grandmother," Nathan said softly. "And it sounds like the SRP and Gibson, too." He leaned forward. "It sounds like the biggest threat to him is the SRP. I mean, he said he didn't care about your grandmother, right?"

"All the more reason to hurt her," Mary sighed. She remembered Monica's reaction just then. Would he go after her, too? What a mess. What a mess Mary had made. Her head ached. Her breasts ached. She was going to have to feed the twins soon.

"Whatever you decide," Nathan said. "Wait until the morning. Kersh is staying here for a couple of days, isn't he? He won't be able to get to her with all the media following him around."

"I'd just feel better if they were here," Mary replied. "All of us here together."

"And anyway, Kersh hasn't won," Nathan continued. "That Byers guy could win."

"Even if he does, Kersh is still alive. He's still here. He might not be the ERP, but now he knows. He knows where I am. It wouldn't be hard for him to find my grandmother. Anyone can find her."

"Which is why you can't be seen with your children." Nathan stood up to get some water. "You said he hadn't aged much. You know what that means, don't you?"

"He's a hybrid," Mary answered quietly. "Which one, though?"

"I don't know."

"He'd have to be like us."

"He might. He might not. If it happened to him later in life, it could be either one."

Mary couldn't tell. She hadn't paid attention to his eyes earlier or years ago. But he'd seen hers. He'd have to know what she was, and Leonard and the SRP, too. God, there seemed to be so many of them. How many hybrids were there in this world? Thousands? Millions? And her babies were a new kind. All her children would be. How could that be a bad thing? Shouldn't it be unifying somehow? If Kersh won and became ERP, there would be three hybrids running this country. Unless Burns was one, too. She began to wonder if there was a purpose behind that. And with Leonard and the SRP on the same side, what did that mean for Kersh? He had to be on the other one. That could be exactly why he was running.

Mary excused herself to feed the twins. Her head was spinning with possibilities, with guilt, with exhaustion, and worry. She should talk to Leonard about this. Maybe he could do something about it. He had power and enough influence over his Council. She wondered if the West Council would accept one candidate, but decline the other. Had that ever happened? And if they did, would it even matter at this point?

Mary decided she would stay here for tonight. She would worry about it all later. She would worry about it all in the morning.

She checked her phone one last time. There was a message from Simon:

 _Call your grandmother. Something's happened to your mom._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _The Center_

 _2050_

 _7:39pm_

Ava walked into the Memorial. She was early. AI had told her 8:00. She was meeting him – or her – for the first time ever.

In a way she was excited, but in a way she wasn't. She liked the mystery of it. She liked to keep on guessing. She also felt a little nervous. She doubted it was some kind of trap. AI had been very specific on where she should meet them and emphasized repeatedly that she be sure she was armed. They'd be armed, too, but at least there were cameras in here. That made her curious. They'd gone to such lengths to be anonymous. Why here?

In the entrance, Ava saw the documentary playing in Spanish. Every child in the NAU watched it at least once in school. She'd seen it, but she paused for a minute to watch. They were on the part about the War on Drugs.

Reagan. Revivalism. Satanic Panic. _Challenger_ exploding in the air. MTV, D.A.R.E., and the Gulf War.

The United States always seemed to have a war going on with something. War on Drugs. War on Terror. War on Poverty. They declared war on everything: countries, people, ideas. She shook her head. All they ever did was go to war. Started them, fought in them, provoked them, and they had the unhappiest people on earth. Canada and Mexico wasn't much better. She watched up until the part about them marching on Parliament Hill and executing all the judges in the Supreme Court of Justice in Mexico.

Intense pressure. Pains and pushes. Groans and screams. Lo and behold, the NAU was born.

She was part of a generation that had never lived without the NAU. It was a small generation, so they were considered very special now that they were adults. She did feel special. She was lucky. She had lived her whole life without being recorded, tracked, or regulated. She'd lived her whole life with the one thing the NAU would go to war for: privacy.

A Memorial guide followed her to the elevators. She told it she didn't need any help and it dissolved. She pressed the button for Subfloor 27 and put on a sweater. AI told her it was cold down here. It was for preservation purposes. What for, Ava didn't know. But she supposed it was normal. Winners always put the artifacts of the losers on display so they could look at them and make remarks. What a shame. If only they'd been more advanced as we.

They were meeting this way because she had sensitive information. She knew who M was. Pretty sure. AI didn't want her to send the information. They'd wanted to meet in person. It had surprised her.

She'd made her report a couple of days after her night with Gibson. That hadn't surprised her. He was impulsive, and she'd made sure the impulse was on him not her. Now he was regretting it. She could tell. That was fine, though. She'd been expecting that. Planning on it. He was impulsive and regretful. She'd figured that out a while ago. He would just do or say things, especially to the SRP, and feel bad about it later. She was expecting his regret. It wouldn't do for him to be getting clingy this early. That would come later.

She knew he was going to be feeling impulsive again, and she would be right there. He was missing someone that night. He was wishing for someone else that night. That's why it happened. She knew exactly who it was.

Well. Pretty sure. Ninety-nine percent.

As Ava descended, she thought about why she did these things again. It's not like she woke up one day and said to herself: you know what I'll do? I'll go be a deceiver. A manipulator. That's exactly what I'll do. It didn't happen like that. She felt like she was on the right side, though. There was a battle coming one day. Hybrids against hybrids. People didn't matter. Except people like her. Trained and instructed for this very scenario.

It started when Ava was ten. One Saturday morning, her father announced he was taking Ava and her brother, Seth, on a trip. Ava and Seth had badgered their father with questions at the beginning of the train ride. It was their first time ever to the North Region. Their father gave them little details and their questions eventually gave way to playing on their tablets. They arrived at the Hudson Bay, on the southwest side, where North Guards hauled out chunks of ice to be desalinated and sent to the South Region. They'd had a drought near the western border that year. Had it not been for this trip, Ava would never have remembered that drought.

Once they left the train station, they walked down a long road, their feet crunching gravel and pockets of ice. Seth had been a chubby kid at twelve, so he huffed and puffed behind Ava and her father. They stopped a couple of times for him to catch up. She wouldn't forget the deep forest and approaching the little log house with sap stains on the roof. She would always remember the scent of wood smoke curling out of the stone chimney. That scent had always been a novelty to her and comforting, often encountered when near a community of apocalypse-fearing homesteaders. She would never find it comforting again.

They were all shivering when they got to the door. It was the summer months, the cold tolerable, but still ridiculous for July. An AI answered the door. It was one of the caretaker ones, designed specifically to assist the ever-increasing elderly. They could perform CPR, set broken bones, lift up to 400lbs, administer injections, use home appliances, carry on conversations, and came preprogrammed with a million other tasks. They learned more as they went along and adapted to their charges. Once they were taught a skill, they retained the information indefinitely. This one's name was Mimi, and it could cook, clean, operate a motor vehicle, and replace the wood in the fireplace. Ava could tell Mimi was an older model because it didn't blink. Thousands of senior citizens had returned their AIs to the manufacturer, unnerved and irritated by this feature. An upgrade package was released with blinking included. Apparently, Mimi never received it.

Mimi must have been expecting them. She took them to a back porch, screened-in and heated, where an old woman was sitting. Ava didn't see her face at first. She saw long silver hair, twisted and pinned in a low bun. The smoke of a Morley curled around her. It was a real one. They were hard to get. Ava saw the red and white box sitting on a table next to an ashtray. Seth wrinkled his nose at the smell.

When the woman turned around and looked at them, Ava thought for a second she was looking at a witch. A storybook witch. Her mouth was bracketed with deep frown lines and her forehead was creased from years of scowling. Deep crow's feet fanned out from her eyes, exaggerated each time she squinted, taking a drag from her cigarette. Ava saw she was missing her right arm. It had been replaced with a robotic appendage without the skin. It was the type powered by body heat and movement. The joints and machinery clicked and whirred while she took a drag from her cigarette and stubbed it out.

The woman nodded at Ava's father. "Gregory." Her voice was surprisingly clear. Ava had been expecting a witchy cackle.

"Mother." Ava's father frowned, putting one hand each on Ava's and Seth's shoulders.

Ava turned to look up at him, completely surprised. "She's our grandma?"

Ava hadn't known about a grandma on her father's side. Her maternal grandmother lived in Norway. She'd left before the transition. Ava rarely saw her in person, but she liked to chat with Ava and her brother through screens at least once a week. She was a kind woman with a smiling face and no bad habits. Ava's father never discussed his family. Ava just assumed they'd all passed away.

The woman glared at the three of them. "I see you're still as honest as ever, Gregory. Just as ever."

"Just how you taught me."

"I must be a terrible teacher then." She lit another cigarette and held it with her robotic fingers.

"The worst."

She made a hacking sound, kind of a laugh. "I pray for you every day."

"And I curse you every day."

The old woman smiled, her teeth yellowed from tobacco and age. "The righteous shall inherit the earth."

"It's the meek. And we won't."

Ava didn't know what was happening. She looked over at Seth, raised her eyebrows, and he raised them back. They'd never heard their father like this before.

The woman shifted her dull blue eyes to Seth. "Come here."

Seth wouldn't move.

Ava nudged him, but he wouldn't budge. He just stood there gaping, then looked at their father for reassurance. Their father nodded at him, and Seth approached her.

She took a couple drags as she looked him over for a minute or two. "You're fat." She said it very matter-of-fact. "You eat too much. You're weak. And fat."

Seth's eyes widened and he looked down at his feet. He was like any fat kid, well-aware of his appearance and hoping no one would notice. He'd thinned out as he'd grown older, but that was a terrible thing to say to a twelve-year old boy.

"You're mean!" Ava exclaimed. She turned to her father. "She's mean! She's a witch!"

The woman studied Ava then, looking her up and down a couple of times. "And you," she exhaled through her nose, "have a little bitch mouth."

Ava's jaw dropped. Ava looked up at her father again.

"Mother…," he warned.

She regarded him coldly. "You brought them here. I'll say what I like."

Mimi came onto the porch, picking up the ashtray. "Would you like another drink, Miss Diana?" It had a female vocal range installed, but there was a glitch in it that made it sound slightly masculine. "Can I bring something out for your guests?"

"They'll be leaving soon," her grandmother replied, staring hard at Ava's father. "Don't interrupt us again."

"Yes, Miss Diana." Mimi walked back into the house. They all stared at one another in a tense silence that seemed to go on forever. Seth toddled back over to Ava and her father, shame-faced. He looked like he was going to cry. Ava decided right then and there that she hated this woman. She'd hate her forever.

Ava's father made her and Seth go back inside. Told them to play on their tablets. They gladly complied. Seth plopped into a chair and rubbed at his eyes.

"She's mean!" Ava said. "Why did he make us come?"

"She's right," he sniffed. "I am fat."

"But you don't say that to somebody."

Seth looked over at her. "I thought she'd be nice. I thought she'd have cookies for us. Grandmas always have cookies."

"You knew?" Ava sat next to him.

"He said if something ever happened to him, I'd be the man of the house. He said to call her if something happened."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Ava pouted, feeling left out.

"You're the baby," he sulked. "You don't have to know things."

"I'm not a baby," Ava crossed her arms. "And I should know everything."

They were only there for a little over an hour. Ava got bored and went to the back door to listen. She couldn't make out the words, but her grandmother and father were angry with each other. That was clear. To this day Ava wasn't sure why.

After their brief visit, Ava's father took them down to Lake Winnipeg to show them where he'd grown up. Neither of them knew much about his childhood and certainly not his family. He took them to a restaurant that was elevated high above ground and spun in a slow circle so they could get a panoramic view of the lake. They fired questions at him. He answered most of them and some he didn't. Ava was too young to really understand most of it. Seth was enjoying his big slice of pie and ice cream to really care at all.

"Your grandfather was a terrible man," their father told them. "I want you both to know that. She'd tell you otherwise. She believed in his ideals. So, naturally, we have a difference of opinion."

"Did you ever meet him?" Seth asked in between bites.

"Once." Their father looked out the window for a few minutes, watching the landscape rotate slowly by. "He didn't care for me. I didn't care for him." He looked at Ava and Seth, leaning forward to whisper to them. "But he left us a gift. We're a special family. This world is going to change one day, and we'll be instrumental in that change."

"Change how?" Ava asked.

"There are people here…well, they're not people. Not exactly. They've been here for a long time. They've sworn to protect us if we help them."

"Help them what?" Seth asked, putting down his fork.

"Rule the world." Their father smiled at them.

Ava exchanged a look with her brother. "Like kings and queens?"

"Something like that."

"Is she helping them, too?" Ava frowned. "Our grandmother?"

"She's done all she can. She's too old now. It's been passed on to us."

"I don't ever want to see her again!" Ava exclaimed. "She's so mean and ugly!"

Her father sighed and shook his head. "You will. You both will."

Ava wound up at her doorstep four years later with a slimmed-down Seth. They'd ridden up by themselves that time. Both of them considered going to Ottawa instead to watch the Guard clean it up. The Peace Tower was in pieces and they were shipping parts of it to the Center to put in the Memorial. They saw it on the news and felt that would be preferable to seeing their grandmother.

"If she calls me fat again, I'll take that arm off and smack her with it," Seth promised.

Their grandmother was slightly more amiable this time. Slightly. Mimi showed them in. It must have been upgraded. It was blinking like a person. Their grandmother was sitting in her living room, feet propped up on an ottoman, wrapped up in a fuzzy robe. Her silver hair was damp and loose and hung over the back of the chair. It nearly touched the floor.

Ava and Seth looked around for where to put their bags. They were staying for the weekend. Their father wanted it to be longer, but they both rebelled.

Mimi went over to their grandmother and pulled the robe off her right shoulder. There was angry-red scar tissue around the socket where the arm plugged in. Mimi snapped it on with a twist and the arm lit up, the machinery activated. Their grandmother wiggled the fingers, bent the wrist, and pulled out a pack of Morleys.

All Ava could do was stare. Her grandmother glared right back, looking from Ava to Seth hatefully, while she lit up a cigarette and Mimi began brushing her hair. She said nothing to them for the longest time. She just smoked and scowled at them. Ava looked at her brother and he frowned at her.

"Where are we going to sleep?" He asked.

Their grandmother exhaled a long stream of smoke. "You won't be sleeping much."

Seth looked down at his feet.

"Get out your tablet or your phone," their grandmother said to him. "Go to the North Region Military Academy site."

"Why?" He frowned deeper.

"You're enrolling." She ashed her cigarette on the floor and Mimi immediately walked off for a broom. "They'll make sure you keep that little piggy snout shut."

"I lost it all!"

"You have no self-control! It's your weakness! We don't need any worthless fat pigs in this family!" The harshness of her voice rang in Ava's ears. Mimi came running in with a broom to sweep up the ashes. Ava almost said something, but she didn't want to be sent to the academy for having a little bitch mouth.

Seth did what he was told. The next morning he took a train to the academy for a tour. Three weeks later he was marching through snow drifts and strangling pedophiles.

Their grandmother had other plans for Ava.

Ava watched her pace around her home, a trail of smoke following her. "Your brother can offer assistance in ways you can't." She paused and looked out her window. "All the same, you can do things he can't." She stopped pacing and came over to her, putting her robot fingers on Ava's ears. "What's this?" She tapped Ava's ear lobe.

"It's an ear," Ava snarled.

Her grandmother frowned. "Three holes?"

"You can count. Good for you," Ava sassed.

Her grandmother went over to Mimi and got another pack of cigarettes. "Go get my sewing kit. And a towel." Mimi left and her grandmother came over, grabbed Ava's earlobe, yanking down, tearing her earrings out.

Ava shrieked and grabbed her ear. A trickle of blood went down her neck.

"Whores have three," her grandmother growled. "Idiots have two. Ladies have one." She ripped the earrings out of Ava's other ear. "You'll be a lady. Not a stupid whore."

Ava screamed and cried. She got up to run out, but Mimi was blocking the door.

Her grandmother watched while she wiped her bloody hands off on a towel and lit a cigarette. "Now that's out of the way, we'll proceed."

Her grandmother broke her will. That was essential. Ava would not have gotten this far with her little bitch mouth. She was taught to listen, to observe, to read people like books. Her grandmother sewed up her earlobes and made sure Ava never pierced them more than once.

As Ava walked into the FBI section, her ears ached a little at the memory. Her grandmother had succumbed to dementia a few years ago. Mimi was programed to give Ava's father reports on her behavior. Her grandmother's wandering and ramblings became too much for Mimi, however, so another AI, Solange, was sent to help. Mimi and Solange carried Ava's grandmother from her house, kicking and screaming, to an assisted living facility in the West. She was going to die there. Ava hadn't been to visit her at all.

Ava looked around the FBI room. It was empty. She checked behind all the displays to make sure. She walked into the back chamber. It was all lit up and dead agents were in their cases. She walked down the rows until she saw a silhouette down at the end.

As she approached, she smiled at the man standing there, who was frowning at the three dead men in front of him.

"Oh," Ava said. "It's you."

He turned to her. "You don't seem very surprised."

"Not especially." She sat down on the bench and he sat beside her. Well, this made sense. She should have known.

"So," he began. "M. What have you got?"

"It's Mary Scully."

He stared at her for a minute with is mouth screwed up like he'd tasted something bitter. "Scully?"

Ava opened up her phone and showed it to him. "She's in the South Guard. A Corporal."

Ava had dug and dug and dug like it was her own grave to find this. It was not surface-level at all, but it was worth it. First, she'd pulled out all the first names of women that began with an M. She'd started with aides, staff, and assistants. There were a lot of Megans and Mikaylas. She began filtering them out based on how long they'd served and their proximity to President Covarrubias and Gibson. That led to nowhere. So, she branched out and began including Guard members. She ordered them by rank and enlistment dates. She could access all of it, thanks to her clearance, on GuardNet.

He looked amused at the image of the girl. "You said there were children. Twins. She'd been discharged by now if she had children. Are they his?"

Ava saw that Corporal Mary Scully had an interesting year. She went everywhere the SRP went. She was the only South Guard that did. And wherever Covarrubias was, Gibson was there, too. Then Mary Scully stayed in the West. She was still there. She'd been there for months. She didn't return with Gibson.

"I'm not sure," Ava replied.

"You need to be sure. We don't need more of _his_ kind. They'll pollute the gene pool. This world doesn't need any more of _them_."

"I understand."

"How did you find her?"

Ava explained her long, pain-staking process. He wasn't happy about it. "You're not supposed to be doing those things."

"I have to in order to get the truth."

"We already know the truth. You're not supposed to be snooping."

"How else would I have found her?"

He looked at the image, smiling a little. "Hm. I suppose your right." Then he frowned. "But she'd been discharged a long time ago. They have devices below their thyroids. Monitors their hormone levels and things like that."

"I thought about that, too," Ava replied. "I don't have a clearance for medical. I was hoping you could get me one."

"I won't be able to do that." He handed her phone back. "Have you ever met her?"

Ava shook her head. "She might have been around when I wasn't paying attention."

"It's hard to see when you're not one of them. But when they look off to the side," he demonstrated with his own eyes. "You'll see it right there." He pointed to the side of his pupil. "You need to get near enough to her to see it."

"She's in the West right now."

"Then go to the West," he ordered.

"I can't go anywhere without him on official business. If I take leave, I have to report where I go."

"If those children are really his, then he'll go." He turned to her. "Covarrubias is there now. She might be needing his help in a couple of days."

"Help with what?"

"We can make some kind of disaster for her. She relies on him. He relies on her."

"I know," Ava said bitterly. "I've seen them together. The rumors are true."

He frowned at her. "Rumors aren't proof."

"Then I'll get proof." She smiled.

"You should have brought it with you," he grumbled. "I don't like waiting."

"Then the wait will be short."

He gave her a sly smile. "How far has it gone with him?"

"He slept with me. One night."

He nodded. "Marita Covarrubias and Gibson Praise have known one another for a long time. He'll do practically anything she says. She's in his head. She's sprung tentacles. Wedged herself in there deep. You'll have to pull them out one by one. They've got quite a history. You should work on that first."

"I'll have a marriage proposal before the end of the year."

He smiled. "You're good."

Ava smiled back. "I know."

He stood up and took out his tablet. "In case you need it," he swiped on the screen and showed it to her. "But only if you need it."

There was a woman on the screen, dark-skinned and bright-eyed, smiling in a formal portrait. _Olamide Mwangi Skinner_ was typed beneath it.

"Olamide?" Ava sounded out, looking over at the body of Walter Skinner. "His wife?"

"It's oh-LA-mih-day. And yes, wife." He looked over at Walter Skinner, too. "She was murdered." He tapped on his tablet and Ava heard her phone chime. "They'll both be familiar."

"I see," Ava looked at her phone and then at him. "Why did you want to meet here? Anyone can walk in and there's cameras."

"I disabled them." He turned to the three men. "And I wanted to visit with some old friends." He was quiet for a few seconds. "How's your grandmother?"

"I'm not sure. She probably has no idea where she is or what day it is or anything."

"I'd like to see her."

"She's in the West." Ava looked at Fox Mulder. She knew that name. As the dementia began to manifest, Ava's grandmother had rambled on and on about him. She used to grab Ava by the throat saying _touchstone_ and _constant_ repeatedly. Mimi had to pull her off Ava when she got like that.

"Let me take care of Mary Scully and Covarrubias. I want you to concentrate on Gibson," he said. "I'll be in touch." He walked out of the room, leaving Ava sitting there.

She looked at the image of Olamide for a minute, then put her phone away. She looked over at the body of Fox Mulder. There were fresh violets by the case. She got up to look for a card, but there wasn't one. There were also some daises. She saw some in front of all three men. No card for them either.

She sat back down and got out her phone. She sent a text to her brother:

 _I think it's time we visit grandma._

* * *

 _The North American Union_

 _East Region_

 _2050_

 _2:54am_

Mary sat on the train as it sped through the night. She tried to call her grandmother again, but there was no answer. It was late in the East. It was late right now.

She turned in her seat to see Nathan and Linda, awkwardly holding Albert and Melissa. They were fussy at first, but the ride had made them sleepy. Both Nathan and Linda had been adamant: no one can see Mary with her children. A Guard member out of uniform could be riding, and if they were from the South they might recognize her.

Right before they left, Mary sent Leonard a message, just in case. She didn't think he would see until the morning, but she didn't want him coming to the house and find all of them gone without knowing why.

And why was because her mother had gone missing.

The word rang in her head, buzzed and bleeped like a siren. _Missing_.

That's what Simon told her. She didn't want to call him, and hoped he might not pick up, but he did on the third ring.

"Mary?"

"What happened to my mother?" She blurted out.

"I don't know exactly, but your grandmother says she's missing. I didn't know if you knew, so -"

"Why are you talking to my grandmother! What happened? Where are you?"

"I'm in the East Guard now. I transferred. I'm going to see - "

"Why?" She closed her bedroom door, no longer exhausted.

He was quiet for a moment or two. "It was just better money. I was supposed to go up to Sergeant Major."

What was he doing? Didn't he know about Kersh? "Where did you see my grandmother?" Her head spun. What was he doing?

"At her house." He paused. "It's a long story, but I had to go with Intelligence." He paused again. "I met your cousin."

Mary's heart pounded. "Cousin?!"

"Yeah. She's not like you at all."

Oh, God. Did he see Esther or Eve? Her head was spinning like a top. She didn't want to ask which one.

Mary hung up on him before he could say anything else, and called her grandmother. No answer. She called her mother. No answer. She almost called her father, but decided not to. Not knowing what else to do, she was taking a late train to the East to her grandmother's house.

The train arrived at about four, and Mary wasn't sure if she should bring Nathan and Linda with her. She might need them, but what a shock this was going to be - showing up with two armed West Guards and two babies.

Mary knocked on the door twice, and when it opened she saw Esther standing there, sleepy-eyed and her hair a mess.

"Mary! What - ?"

Mary came right on in, forgetting about how this was going to look. She had the twins in the sling she wore and Nathan and Linda came in behind her.

Esther looked at all of them carefully, her eyes widening with shock as she began to figure it out.

Her grandmother came down the hall, tying on a robe. "Mary, what are you doing here?" She stopped, looked from the twins to Mary, to Nathan and Linda, and back to Mary again. "What's going on?"

"Where's my mother?" Mary cried. "Simon told me she was missing."

Her grandmother looked at all of them again, rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. "Sit down. I'll make some coffee."

* * *

Mary felt foolish making all the introductions.

Hi Esther. Here's your niece and nephew. Hello grandmother. Here are your great-grandchildren. Aren't they cute? Also - this is Nathan and Linda. They followed me here so no one would attack us. There now. Everyone sit down and get acquainted.

It was tense and uncomfortable for a few minutes. Esther's endless and questions and confusion didn't help.

"But - but…when did…how did…who - ?" She stammered.

Mary felt her face grow hot. "I got pregnant…I…"

"Well, I can see that!" Esther exclaimed. "But I don't understand! Is that why you went to the clinic? Were you pregnant then? Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"No." Mary felt awful. She picked Melissa up, who was wide awake and looking around her great-grandmother's house. "I was going to be. So, I thought I'd make sure everything was okay first."

Esther looked at the twins and back at Mary. "These aren't Simon's kids, are they?"

Mary shook her head.

"Esther," her grandmother said softly. "I'll explain it to you later."

Mary looked over at her grandmother, feeling worse. Did she know about Leonard? And what had Simon said to her? Nathan and Linda sat stiff and quiet in one corner with their guns. Mary didn't like having witnesses for all her deceptions and lies. Albert crawled over to Nathan and tugged his shoe strings. The twins were completely oblivious to how everyone was looking at them. As if they were strange creatures that manifested out of nothing.

"I'm sorry," Mary said to everyone and no one and to herself. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you, but I couldn't. I was going to…but…" she trailed off, unable to come up with a good excuse. What on earth could she say? Oh, it was no big deal. I married Leonard Hosteen and now we have twins! The end!

"Who's the dad, then?" Esther asked. She looked over at Nathan. He gave her a look and shook his head.

Mary wrung her hands.

"Who?" Esther asked again.

Mary looked over at Nathan and Linda. They shrugged. She looked at her grandmother and Esther, both of them waiting. They're not going to believe her. She might as well say it. "Leonard Hosteen."

"Oh, bullshit," Esther replied.

Mary said nothing. She picked Albert up and sat him on her lap. Melissa sat on the floor, gazing up at her Aunt. Esther was going to be quite the Aunt to them. She would be the Cool Aunt that took them shopping and let them have ice cream for dinner. Mary could just see it. Right then, however, Esther couldn't grasp that concept.

"I don't understand!" She repeated. "Did you have a fling with him? Why would you do that? You'll be kicked out of the Guard!"

"It wasn't a fling." Mary said softly. Albert was starting to whine. Mary dug around in a bag for his pacifier. "I married him. Please don't say anything about it outside of here. He could wind up like Avenham."

Esther looked from Albert to Mary to Melissa. "I don't believe it."

Mary watched her grandmother. She wasn't saying anything. She didn't seem shocked at all. Melissa crawled over to her and she picked Melissa up. "Esther, we'll discuss it later, okay?"

"Well, I want to discuss it now," Esther shot back. "She just shows up here, out of nowhere, with babies?" Esther looked at Mary, her expression full of hurt. "I can't believe you didn't tell me! I'm a freaking Aunt now! You could have given me a heads up!"

"I'm sorry," Mary repeated. She felt like she'd never be able to say it enough. "I thought it would be best for everybody if I waited. At least until Leonard resigns and the West gets a new President."

Esther sat down on the couch next to their grandmother. "It makes no sense. No sense at all. You said you never wanted children. It can't possibly be with him! He's…he's _Leonard Hosteen_!"

"Esther, I promise I'll tell you the whole thing. But right now I'm worried about my mother. What happened?"

Her grandmother set her coffee on the table and lay Melissa over her shoulder. "We don't know. When was the last time you talked to her?"

"It was a couple months ago," Mary replied. It had been on the phone when she'd come through the East with Gibson. She hadn't gone to see her and now Mary wished she would have.

Her grandmother looked warily at Nathan and Linda and worded her next phrase carefully. "William went to the hospital to ask around. They said she just disappeared. She was in the OR, she left abruptly, and didn't come back."

Mary's heart pounded. She glanced over at Nathan and Linda, too. "Where is he now?"

"He went to file a report and took some Guard to her house. They didn't find anything." She paused for a few seconds. "I can't help him. I've used all my travel time. All I can do is make phone calls. But William has some help. Marcus is helping him."

"Lieutenant Skinner?" Mary asked, letting Albert down on the floor. "You called him?"

Esther and her grandmother exchanged a look. "Your mother was going to tell you. She just wanted to do it person."

"Tell me what?"

"They're getting married," Esther blurted out.

Mary was stunned.

"It would have been better if she told you herself," her grandmother said wearily. "But you might as well know."

Mary didn't know what to say. She was a little hurt. How long had that been going on? And her mother never told her! And she'd seen Lieutenant Skinner often enough and he'd never said a word either. She thought about the talk they'd had about going to the West. Why hadn't he said something to her then?

"At first," her grandmother said. "I thought that's where she was. With him. I thought they'd run off together or something. Although that's not like her." She sighed. "But he doesn't know where she is either."

"When did this all happen?" Mary's voice was shaking. She felt like her question could apply to everything and everyone.

"She was supposed to meet with me a few days ago," her grandmother explained. "I never heard from her. I called William to find out where she was, but he hadn't seen her."

Mary was already sitting down, but she felt like she needed to lay down because she was getting so dizzy. Everyone was looking at her, at her reaction to all this. She needed to be doing something, anything. Just run outside and start screaming for her mother to the mountains.

Albert started crying. Melissa did, too. Mary immediately went over to them. It was probably time to feed them again.

"Do you want some help?" Esther asked.

"No. They're just hungry." Mary took the twins to the spare room to feed them. Esther's things were strewn everywhere. She'd made a mess. How long had she been here? Why was she here to begin with?

Mary wanted the twins to sleep, but they were amazed at this new place. She wanted to sleep, too. She was so awake and so tired all at once.

When she went back out to the living room, Esther was rambling at everyone.

"It was that black-eyed man! I'm telling you it was!" Esther was looking from her grandmother to Nathan and Linda. "He followed me to her house! I know he did! That's how he found her!" She went over to Nathan and Linda. "Have you ever seen anyone like that? Bright eyes, glowing eyes that just turn black? And they float around like a ghost!"

Mary's heart felt like a drum. Dominique.

"Esther…" her grandmother said gently, standing up to pull her away.

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy!" Esther exclaimed. "My supervisor won't let me on any more flights until I'm cleared of altitude sickness! That's not what it is! I _know_ what I saw."

"When did you see him?" Mary asked shakily.

Esther came over to her. "You saw things like that, right? When you were little? Didn't you?"

"Not when I was little, but I have." Mary slowly sat down, looking over at Nathan and Linda.

"What are they?" Esther demanded.

"They're Transients," Nathan spoke up. "They're not like us."

Mary watched her grandmother get up and leave the room.

"If it's them, then it's not your mother they want," Linda said to Mary. "It's Albert and Melissa."

"They'll want a trade, then." Nathan said soberly.

Mary felt hot tears prick her eyes. "Why? They can't have my mother or my children!"

Her grandmother came back into the room, dressed and putting on some shoes. "Come outside." She said to Mary and Esther. "There's something I need to show you."

Mary and Esther followed their grandmother out into the yard and over to her root cellar. Mary felt like her head might explode. Or her heart. Or just all of her. She should be doing something. She should be out looking for her mother, but where? She needed to call Leonard for one thing. There had to be something he could do to help.

Her grandmother lifted a plank of wood from the latch and opened the door. She handed Mary and Esther flashlights and they went inside. It was the first time Mary had ever been in here. She could remember her grandmother and grandfather opening the door and going in when she was a child. Sometimes they'd come out with tools or canned food. It was an old cellar that went underground, used by people a long time ago before there were refrigerators.

Mary turned her flashlight on and saw shelves lined with cans of food, boxes, crates, and a few buckets of paint. It was a small space, probably the size of a bathroom. Mary watched her grandmother kneel down in a corner and lift a block of dirt from a space in the wall.

She waved her flashlight towards it. "Go ahead."

"Crawl in there?" Mary asked.

"What if there's bugs?" Esther worried.

"There's not," their grandmother reassured. "Go on."

Esther was hesitating, so Mary pushed passed her and crawled into the hole.

"Watch your head," her grandmother instructed.

Mary crawled out into a tunnel-like room, the walls lined with tile and lime-stained concrete. She went through a door that looked like a submarine door. The smell of rust and mildew was heavy in the air. Mary put the collar of her shirt over her nose and mouth. She shined the flashlight around, while Esther and her grandmother crawled in behind her. A little ways down, Mary saw shelves, roughly nailed together, holding containers. All kinds of containers. Metal, plastic, and cardboard. She also saw laptops, hard drives, and floppy disks all stacked up next to the boxes. Several air filters were running by the shelves, powered by a car battery.

"What is all this?" Mary asked, amazed. She never would have known this was here. Had it always been here?

Her grandmother shined her flashlight down the tunnel. "They're X-files."

"What the hell's an X-file?" Esther mumbled, looking around for spiders and snakes.

Their grandmother took a breath. "I know what you saw, Esther. I know what both of you have seen. And everything you've ever wanted to know about what you are, what they are, or anything else is right here." She shined the light down the tunnel.

Mary followed the shelves. All the boxes were labeled by year, all organized. She noticed some years were missing. There was practically nothing from the 1980s. Then it picked up in 1993, 1994, 1995, no 1996, 1997, no 1998. Mary followed the containers all the way to the end. 2021.

"We had to put some of it on CDs," her grandmother explained. "There was a fire and we had to restore some of it. Digitize it. They'd already gutted the CIA when the transition started. Your grandfather and I wanted make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands."

"Was this all your work?" Mary asked. "The X-files? What does that mean?"

"Unexplained events. Your grandfather and I investigated them."

"How did you hide this from Intelligence?" Esther asked.

Mary heard a shuffle sound down the tunnel, when she shined the flashlight she saw a man standing there. She screamed.

"No, it's okay! It's okay!" Her grandmother shouted, walking towards him. "This is Ian. He's my neighbor." She nodded towards Mary and Esther. "These are my granddaughters."

Ian nodded at them. "I thought I heard someone. I came down to check for a leak. From all that rain."

"What the shit is this place?" Esther exclaimed. "Do you freaking _live_ down here?"

Ian frowned at her.

"He was in the CSIS - Canadian Security Intelligence Service. It was similar to the FBI."

"We investigated the same things," Ian added.

"Unexplained things?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Ian answered. He turned to her grandmother. "I don't know why you all called them X-files. Why not U-files? That would have made more sense."

"Didn't sound as glamorous," her grandmother replied. "And U stood for something else."

"Well, the FBI was anything but glamorous." Ian teased. "No one gave a shit about us."

"He kept everything, too. What he could." Her grandmother went further down, shining the light on more shelves and containers. They were less organized and labeled in a mix of French and English. "Ian investigated the unexplained in Canada."

"Canada had Intelligence?" Esther asked.

"Of course we did," Ian frowned. "Why does everybody always ask me that?"

The beam of Mary's flashlight fell on a figure coming towards them on down the tunnel. How far did this thing go? He was wearing a hard hat with an LED duct taped to it.

"Hola!" The man waved.

"That's my other neighbor." Her grandmother waved back.

"Quienes son?" The man asked, pointing to Mary and Esther.

"Granddaughters." Her grandmother replied.

"Oh si," he smiled. He pointed to himself. "Jorge. Federales. Mexico."

"Did he investigate the same things, too?" Mary asked, surprised.

"Yes. There's files down that way in Spanish. You'll be able to read those if you want."

"How has Intelligence not found this?" Mary exclaimed. "Don't they scan the yard?"

"This was a bomb shelter. Probably from the 60s. It's far enough down so it doesn't reach," Ian answered. "We tested it out a few years ago." He looked at her grandmother. "We've had a few close calls." He paused. "Speaking of which, Intelligence was in my basement the other day. I think they found were I moved the bricks."

"Did they ask you about it?"

"No. I thought they were going to come back, but they didn't. We might need to cover up the entrance on the other side tonight."

Esther was pulling down a box from 1995. "Is this all in paper?!"

"Some of it is, so be careful with it."

"They made you write things? On paper? What a bunch of assholes!" Esther dug through the box.

"I don't want to read anything," Mary said. "I should be out looking. I don't have time for this."

"No." Her grandmother said firmly. "You and the twins stay here. William and Marcus are out there. You're friend Simon is helping us, too."

"Why is this happening?" Mary put her face in her hands. "I can't just read files while she's out there. If someone has her, because of me. Especially because of me."

Her grandmother hugged her. "You should have come to me. Why didn't you?"

"Oh, shit!" Esther shrieked, jumping back from the box. "What the hell is that?"

Her grandmother went over to it and took out a black and white photograph. "That was a Flukeman."

"A what?!"

"Part worm, part man." Her grandmother stuck the photograph in another box. "It was in the wrong one."

"There's no right one for that!"

"I know. There's no right one for any of this."

"She told me not to tell you," Mary blinked back tears. "The SRP. She said it would be dangerous for my family. I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. And Leonard's in danger, too. We all are."

Her grandmother brushed her tears away and looked her dead in the eye. "I don't know what she's told you, but not everything she says is true." She paused. "But you can trust Gibson. He's a good man."

"She said it was for the good of future. She said you deserved to see all you went through wasn't for nothing."

Her grandmother led her out of the bomb shelter. "You should go lie down. Check on the twins. In a way, she was right. This is for the good of future, but it doesn't have to be done _her_ way."

"What other way is there?"

"The right way."

* * *

Mary was dozing with the twins in the spare room.

Esther had made a mess of the bed, so Mary re-made it and lay the twins beside her. They wiggled and gurgled, stimulated from being in a new place. Mary had cradled each one, rocking them gently, and humming, trying to get them to calm down. Her grandmother told her she had an old crib somewhere, and she was looking for it. The very one Mary's mother had put her in when they lived here.

 _Her mother_.

She didn't want to be here, but she couldn't be out there. Her grandmother was adamant. Nathan and Linda agreed: Mary and the twins couldn't leave. She shouldn't have left the West to begin with. She realized that now. She was closer to Leonard and they were safe there. Nathan and Linda were patrolling the neighborhood right now. They really didn't know what else to do.

But her mother wasn't safe. Mary didn't want to think about where she could be or what had happened to her. She would have contacted someone by now if she was okay. Something was definitely wrong. Mary wanted to sneak out. She didn't know what she could do, though. Go to her mother's house. Go to the hospital. The clinic. All the places everyone else had already been. She wondered if she should call her father. There'd been no word from him or Marcus since she'd gotten here.

He was likely beside himself and running around like crazy. Both of them were. Lieutenant Skinner and her mother! Together! She started to think about the times her mother was on the phone or went somewhere, being all secretive. Mary thought it was with her father. Had this thing with Lieutenant Skinner been going on that long? He would be her step-father. If they found her mother, that is.

A small part of her wanted her father here to comfort her. What would he say if he saw Melissa and Albert? He'd want to meet Leonard, unless she lied to him. Every deception, every lie, and half-truth she'd ever told was catching up to her now. Exploding in her face. And now her own mother was suffering somewhere. She couldn't keep adding to the pile. Now was the time to be truthful. The SRP had been wrong. This had been the worst thing to do.

Mary prayed. She found her rosary and prayed for everything to be okay. Maybe a lunatic came into the hospital and kidnapped her mother. Maybe it had nothing to do with Mary or her children. Maybe her mother had gotten away from him, and she was trying to find her way home. She was well and unhurt. Just someone crazy. Not a hybrid. It was pathetic Mary was wishing for that. She didn't want the blame to fall on her, but it did. It really did.

Mary heard her phone chime across the room and she stirred, wondering about the time. She looked down at the twins, all snuggled up against her, sound asleep. She gently kissed them and tried not to disturb them as she got out of bed.

There was a message waiting. She was hoping it was Leonard. He was probably worried, too.

She opened it up, looked at the image, and dropped her phone.

She covered her mouth, shaking, feeling her stomach fall to her feet. She picked up her phone to look at it again. It was an image of her mother, unconscious, bound to a chair in a room that looked half-empty, half-ransacked. Below the image were the letters JEH.

Mary ran out into the living room with her phone. "They sent me a picture!" She showed them. "Oh, God! What did they do to her?"

Her grandmother grabbed her phone.

Esther looked at it. "Is she dead?!"

"No," her grandmother replied. "It looks like they knocked her out. So she can't use any of her abilities." She held her finger over the image and a number popped up. It was her mother's number. They sent it from her phone.

"Someone took her! Someone kidnapped her!" Mary cried.

"What's JEH mean?" Esther shouted.

Her grandmother set the phone down. She leaned on the table, looking like she was going to faint. "J. Edgar Hoover." She closed her eyes. "I know where she is." She grabbed Esther's shoulders. "Call your father! Tell them to go to DC! We have to go to DC!"


End file.
